


Where We Shall Need No Glass

by AsTheDayDies, OneWingedSeraph



Series: Where We Shall Need No Glass [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dialogue Heavy, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Includes ART!, Multi, Non-Canon Relationship, Romance, Slow Romance, Slowmance, but a lot of friendship stuff too - Freeform, slowburn, so many tags!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-15 00:52:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 81,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5765431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsTheDayDies/pseuds/AsTheDayDies, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWingedSeraph/pseuds/OneWingedSeraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liadan Lavellan and Lissa Trevelyan each have their own reasons for being at the Conclave. But when they wake, chained and marked, they are forced to rely on not only their newfound friends, but especially on each other. Will they be able to close the giant hole in the sky, despite their obvious differences and the circumstances that brought them together, or will the shared marks on their hands tear them even further apart?</p><p>Spoilers of main game and DLC content! Additional tags will be listed as necessary in each chapter. Changes in character perspective will be marked. </p><p>** This story will be receiving some fairly in-depth rewriting of some early chapters. To our continued readers and any newcomers, both of us hope you will enjoy the new chapters, either the re-written ones or the continued story. Do not be surprised if you see chapters disappearing or reappearing! We will make sure to mention at the beginning of each chapter whether or not it has been heavily edited/rewritten. :) **</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue/Chapter One

_"They are all gone into the world of light!_  
_And I alone sit lingering here;_  
_Their very memory is fair and bright,_  
_And my sad thoughts doth clear._  
_. . ._  
_I see them walking in an air of glory,_  
_Whose light doth trample on my days;_  
_My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,_  
_Mere glimmerings and decays._  
_. . ._  
_Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill_  
_My perspective still, as they pass;_  
_Or else remove me hence unto that hill_ _  
Where I shall need no glass._ "

 

— _Beyond the Veil  
_ _by Henry Vaughan_

 

**Prologue**

 

Solas inhaled deeply, letting the crisp, winter air of Haven stretch his lungs, enjoying the feeling despite the tang of human sweat mixed with pine. The clamorous sounds of soldiers and barked orders drifted on the air, and all the words were focused on that terrible tear. Or the two women lying helpless in the shack beyond. He worked to stifle a sigh.

Of all the ways his plan could have gone wrong, he could not have foreseen this. No, he certainly could not have anticipated such a phenomenon, the anchor splitting in two. Neither could he have ever anticipated a pair of mortals to live through the connection. He let out another slow exhale, his gaze darting over the book before him. _Though I doubt they will live long._

This magic of his was not meant for them, not in their current condition. The elf woman might have survived it, one day long ago. Or perhaps in a corrected future. But he could smell the emptiness in her blood. It may have held a faint remnant of the people, but it was a strand, weak, and barely held the spark of magic. She was not a mage, and the human that _could_ wield magic was not of the People. How could her feeble human state expect to contain magic meant for an immortal? Their weakened, mortal states would be sapped dry, burnt out from the power of the anchor like a wick on a dark night.

A pitying look tugged at his features. _There is no need for them to suffer._ He thought of it like a promise, more for himself than for the pair of women edging on death in the healer's cabin. He did not need more victims.

There was a sudden shout from elsewhere in the camp, and only a few seconds later, the door to his temporary quarters was slammed open. He jolted, standing up from his work. There stood the familiar Seeker, a stern shock straining her hard features. “They’re awake!” she barked, a hint of excitement in her voice. “Come with me, Solas; we need you to check them again.”

His eyes widened at her revelation. "What?" he asked with no small amount of surprise, instantly making for the door. _They are awake? How is that possible?_

She led him back through the camp, side-stepping soldiers and healers and scattering the rest with a well-placed glare. It was easy to ignore the cold, hard earth beneath his bare feet as he kept up with the Seeker’s long strides. As they drew closer to the cabin, Cassandra slowed down enough to tell Solas what the healer had told her.

For his part, he only nodded, his mind still reeling with questions. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, masking his surprise at what he saw. Both women were conscious and stretched out on their respective cots, and aside from the quickening surge he sensed in their blood, he sensed no great injury.

 _How odd_.

“Where am I?” the elf was the only one to stir and she sat up to level a firm gaze at him. Her eyes darted between him and the Seeker, and she shifted her hand behind her back in caution.

In a few strides, he crossed the room, pausing to kneel beside her. “You are safe,” he replied, carefully taking in the condition of the magic roiling beneath her skin. This one, a fighter, was lithe and so very, very young. _But then,_ he mused, _so are all those here._ His gaze traced the vallaslin on her cheeks, the delicate tattoos as pale as her hair. _And attempting to honor Mythal, albeit misguidedly._

He whispered old words, having to resort to spoken spells as his inner magic was still too weak. His own anchor responded, and he forced the magic down to stop it from killing them. "That should help," he said a moment later, working to hide his weariness.

As he spoke, the human mage began to stir, her eyes shut tight as if she had stared too long at the sun. He wondered briefly if the explosion had caused her eyes some permanent damage. "It . . . it burns,” she said through gritted teeth, her copper-colored curls clinging to her sweat-dampened skin. “What happened?"

"I do not know,” he answered softly. “We were rather hoping you would tell us."

The human muttered something unintelligible before her body went limp again as she slipped back into unconsciousness. She began to breathe easier, but her skin remained pale, the freckles on her nose and cheeks standing out in stark contrast.

"You did not answer me," the elven woman said, her gaze darting to the woman beside her before she leveled a furious look at him. "Where am I? Why am I here? And what did you to do her?"

"We will answer your questions when you answer ours." The Seeker stepped forward, nearly pressed to Solas' side in her haste to speak to the still conscious elf. "What were you doing at the Conclave? Why were you two the only ones to—"

The slender elf cried out in pain, the fingers of her right hand reaching for the human’s left, both of their marks sputtering furiously. She swayed on the cot, her face ashen, and as her head lolled, Solas reached out to keep her from harming herself as she fell. He turned his pale gaze up to the Seeker. "They are not ready for an interrogation; they need rest."

"They will get nothing until I learn the truth of what happened." Cassandra barked an order and a moment later, two soldiers entered the cabin. "Take them to the dungeon. Two cells have already been prepared."

The soldiers obeyed without question, each one gathering a woman in their arms before leaving. Solas remained behind, wondering how his plans would change, now that it looked like the women would live.

 

 

 

 

 

_"If you would live, and live without fear, you must fight."_

— _Shartan 9:7_  

 

  
**Chapter One**

 

 

Lissa stirred, a burning pain clawing at her palm. Her amber eyes fluttered open, trying to focus on anything that would make sense of what she saw, but her confusion only grew. She had been on her way to the Conclave as she had been requested by her Enchanter. Had she been attacked by Templars on the way? She made to move, but groaned and winced at the effort of lifting her head.

Realization met her with a sigh. “Locked away. Again,” she mused, peering at the chains that held her to the hard, gritty ground. She shifted her weight, working to get to her knees. “At least in the Circle they pretended we weren't prisoners _._ ” She chuckled darkly, wincing as the strange green brand sputtered in her palm.

Looking around her, she could barely make out the sight of a dim room—a cell perhaps?—around her, complete with binds around her wrists. She glanced up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the lights that bobbed in and out of focus, before looking around again. Dimly, she could see the blurred form of a woman; she could make out that the woman had pale hair, but that was all, and quickly she looked away as the pain in her head increased.

"Are you alright?" she called softly.

Scoffing in frustration, the elf gave up trying to locate one of her lockpicks. Between the healers and the soldiers, all of her hidden picks had been removed. Rolling her neck, shoulders, then her wrists as much as she could, and last, her ankles, she cocked her head in the human woman's direction as she laughed to herself.

"I am fine," she answered shortly. But as the silence continued, save for the intermittent flashes of viridian in both their palms, Liadan sighed and turned her head toward the human, ignoring strands of her pale hair falling around her face. Her grey-green eyes flashed in the dim light and she tried for a small smile that came out far more like a grimace as another jolt of pain travelled up her arm. "And you?" she asked, forcing gentleness into her tone. "You seemed to be in a lot of pain earlier."

Lissa shook her head and squeezed her palm into a fist. "I'm alright. This . . . thing. It interferes with my mana." Perhaps that was why she was having a hard time seeing clearly? She knew her eyes were weak, but she had never had this much difficulty.

Squinting, she could just make out the features of the woman, noting that her ears were tipped. "Are you Dalish or from the city?"

"Dalish." Liadan leaned forward a little, muscles pulling painfully as she moved more than she had been allowed in the last few hours. "Is there something wrong with your eyes?"

Blinking several times in an effort to clear away the bright spots, Lissa slowly shook her head. "I must have hit my head. I keep seeing spots."  She shifted, easing the tightness in her lower back. "Were you at the Conclave? Do you know what happened?"

"I was, but no." Liadan pressed her lips together as she settled back into a somewhat comfortable position. "The last thing I remember . . . ." She shook her head. "Too many mages and templars for my taste."

Lissa felt the hollow ache in her chest yawn wider. "If what they’re saying is true, I imagine there are a lot less now," she lamented softly.

"I cannot say I am surprised." The elf's tone was quiet, polite."I would not have brought so many of my people together, even for such a meeting."

Lissa's gaze rose to the ceiling, her expression pensive and soft. "It was supposed to be worth it." Her hands tensed against the chains wrapped around her wrists, the links jangling as she trembled. Her hands fell to her lap, and her chin dropped to her collarbone.

The elf murmured something in her own tongue, returning her attention to escaping her chains.

Some time passed before the dungeon door above them opened and someone stepped heavily down the stairs. A softer set of footsteps soon followed the second. As the Seeker came into view, Liadan was already sitting up straight, her gaze following the formidable looking woman. Her gaze shifted to the smaller hooded woman behind the Seeker before shifting at last to the woman in chains beside her.

Lissa made to move toward the woman who entered, but was stopped short by the chain. The mage's expression was desperate for answers. "Please, can you tell us what happened here?"

Cassandra frowned at the mage and stopped just an arm’s length away. “I should ask you the same. Both of you were at the Conclave. What happened?”

"I—I don't know. I was sent from Ostwick to represent my Circle on behalf of Enchanter Dumais." Her throat caught between her words, and she worked hard to swallow. The woman was intimidating, but not for her stature or strong posture. It was the zealous passion burning in her eyes. Lissa had seen that passion at work, watched it blind otherwise good men into doing terrible things. That she was innocent would not matter if this woman did not also possess a clear mind. She was careful to keep her words soft and even. "That's the last thing I remember."

“And what is your name, Mage? Why would you have been spared alone among your brethren?”

Lissa’s voice wavered. “I-I am Lissa Trevelyan. I cannot say why I lived.”

“How can that be?” The Seeker moved forward. “That makes almost less sense than the fact that you two are the only ones to survive. The Temple is completely destroyed!”

Behind her, the hooded woman remained silent, her gaze slowly shifting to the still silent elf.

As though feeling the woman’s gaze, Liadan ducked her head for a moment, hiding the glimmer of tears in her eyes before she spoke softly. “The only ones? Then, you mean the rest are dead?”

"Dead?" Lissa repeated in a slip of a whisper. Her ribs felt like they had collapsed in on the hollow cavern that was now her chest. There had been so many good people there—people who were willing to make things right, to work hard—and they were dead? The best of them, snuffed out in an instant. Though few, she had friends among both factions. And now it seemed she had no friends at all. The hot tears that burned trails down her freckled cheeks were not conjured.

“You have yet to tell us your name, Elf,” the hooded woman observed.

“I am from clan Lavellan,” came the reply, and the elf made sure to meet both her and the Seeker’s gazes. “My name is Liadan, and I had nothing to do with what happened at the Temple.”

Sniffing, Lissa worked to gather her nerve. She still had a job to do; she was still a representative of Ostwick Circle and of Mages. Forcing herself to straighten, her posture betraying a strength she did not feel, Lissa forced herself to ask: "What happens now?"

“You tell me why you lived!” The Seeker bent and grabbed their glowing hands, lifting them as high as their chains would allow. “Why did you two survive?”

Lissa cried out against the forceful grip of the warrior, her teeth gritting as she endured the discomfort. "I don't know what happened! If I did, I would tell you what I know. Those were my brothers and sisters at the Conclave!" Her voice grew raw and impassioned. "You must believe me."

“Perhaps you should calm down, Cassandra,” the hooded woman said softly, though she made no move to stop the interrogation. “They have been unconscious for several days; they are likely as confused as we are.”

The Seeker scoffed. “We do not have time to coddle them, Leliana. Not when Most Holy—”

“If we do not even know what happened, how can we answer your questions?” Liadan’s hand was clenched in a fist, her pale face set in a scowl that nearly matched the Seeker’s, her eyes still glimmering with tears. “Or do you plan to bully us into a false confession?”

Cassandra had gentled her grip at the mage’s cry of pain, but as the elf spoke, her anger grew. “Bully? Hundreds of people died, including Divine Justinia! I will do whatever is necessary to find out what happened and if you are in some way responsible—”

“And if we were?” Liadan jutted her chin out in defiance. “We would be rather foolish to have remained during the blast, would we not? It grieves me to hear that all these people died, but pushing the blame on us will do nothing to bring them peace, nor will punishing us do you any good.”

“She is right.” The hooded woman stepped closer and reached out to clasp Cassandra’s wrist. “This will accomplish nothing. Perhaps if we show them just what is at stake?”

Lissa kept her eyes closed, praying to the Maker to just _please_ take away the burning spots in her eyes and the shrill ringing in her ears. Their arguing grated against her already shredded nerves, and when the hooded woman interrupted, she was somewhat thankful.

With a disgusted noise, the Seeker let go of their hands with a small shove and straightened. “Very well, Leliana. Guard, get over here and remove their chains!”

Rubbing her bruised wrists, Lissa followed the women up the stairs and out into the light of day. She held up her forearm to shield her face, a strange light burning her eyes. Slowly, it dissolved, slipping away like a mist in the sun. Once she could see clearly, she gasped. The sky was split and roiling in a green surge, the very heavens ripped apart.

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” Liadan muttered again, clenching her fingers as another pulse began in her palm. “How can they think we did this?"

It was enough to make Lissa’s knees buckle. She reached out to the nearest thing to her, gripping onto the forearm of the smaller elven woman. "I—I don't know. This is bad. Horrible. What magic could have caused this?" she asked in horror.

Nearly losing her own balance, Liadan shifted her weight, attempting to help the woman to her feet.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads . . . and it is killing you.” The Seeker bent on one knee, leaning toward them both, her expression almost kind. “It may be the key to stop this, but there isn’t much time.”

Liadan glanced at the soldiers and delegates as they quickly milled about beneath the broken sky, and she missed the arc of magic that passed between her right hand and the mage’s left as they grew closer. A sharp burst of pain caught her attention and she almost pushed the woman away as she watched the Seeker rise and head toward the other end of the bridge.

As she saw the energy flaring between their hands, Liadan jerked her right hand away, hand fisted and nearly behind her back, a frustrated and hateful look on her features. The pain faded and she worked to gather her thoughts. “Come on,” she finally urged with some gentleness. “That woman is waiting for us.”

Lissa stared at their hands, curiously examining the strange phenomenon, despite the pain. She turned her hand over, watching intently as the light flickered and snapped in virulent green sparks. Wordlessly, she stood, following after the silent elf.

As the two prisoners made their way toward where the Seeker awaited them at the end of a bridge, the same soldiers and delegates turned their worried and tired gazes toward both women. Suspicion and open hatred shone on their faces and many spoke softly, some openly, about how the prisoners should be returned to their cells, or better, executed.

"Well, this is interesting," Liadan murmured to herself and the woman beside her. "I cannot tell who they dislike more, me an elf, or you, a mage." Her eyes were bright and she met each person's gaze with a determined set to her a jaw, a cold haughtiness that was similar to a dagger's edge, bright and sharp.

Lissa only sighed, her expression strained. “This is what I wanted to heal. This . . . this fear.” She let out a pained scoff from the back of her throat, holding back tears. "I pity them," she uttered softly as she set her posture straight, looking on them with a compassion they could not understand.

"They do not deserve it," Liadan replied just as quietly, and the two of them were nearly across the bridge before the Seeker shouted at them to hurry up.

"That tear—the Breach as we have begun calling it—is not going to wait for you to meander about." She was frowning, her arms crossed over her chest. "Hurry up."

With a suppressed huff, Lissa worked to catch up to the woman as quickly as the darting lights in her vision would allow.

As they passed through a blockaded door guarded by soldiers, the Breach swelled, sending a shock through the two marked women. The ground quaked with the force of it, crumbling the bridge, and toppling with it the three women, scattering them across the icy ground. A ball of green fire streaked toward them, striking the ground a mere stone’s throw away, and from the embers, several demons rose, shrieking and lunging toward them.

Attempting to roll as she landed, Liadan gave a pained grunt as she managed to land heavily on one side. She caught her breath as the Seeker rose to her feet, charging ahead to face the demons. Realizing she would be nearly useless in a hand to hand fight with a demon, the elf glanced around for a makeshift weapon. A muttered 'thank you' to whichever god had been listening as she caught sight of a dagger, Liadan edged forward as one of the demon's fell and closed the fingers of her right hand around the hilt of the dagger. It felt good.

She happened to glance at the remains of the crate that had fallen, a small cache of weapons, and spied a staff. "Can you see well enough to cast?" she asked over her shoulder, offering the simple weapon.

With a low moan, Lissa slowly rose, brushing the dust from her robes and nursing a very bruised left arm. She reached out for the staff and gripped it quickly, taking in a breath to align her mana.

She blinked, pushing back the black specks that floated around her vision. The blur cleared, seeping to the edges of her sight until it was miraculously gone.  "Actually, I can see much better now. Perhaps the fall jostled things back into place." With her vision normalized, she focused on the demons with a slow burning gaze. Magic crackled from the staff, enveloping the melee fighters in a cool, blue barrier.

Slightly agitated at the prickle of magic along her skin, Liadan tightened her grip on the dagger before darting into battle. She could not move as fast as she liked, but her body responded well enough despite the fire burning in her palm and her sore muscles. Her weapon flashed a sickly green in the light of the sky before slicing deep into the side of one of the demons, dark blood spilling over hilt and hand.

The staff twirled skillfully between her hands, hitched only by the painful bruising in her side. Before one demon could rake a painful slash into the Seeker's side, Lissa stopped it with a chilling gust of magic, freezing it in place. Between the three, the demons were finished off quickly. As the last fell, Lissa dropped the staff to her side with a sigh. "Thank the Maker. Are you all right?"

"Drop your weapons, both of you," Cassandra answered, glowering as she turned her gore-spattered blade on them.

Lissa obeyed, bending slowly to put down the staff. "Alright, Seeker, calm down.”

Liadan, however, just pressed her crackling palm to her bicep, staunching the sluggish flow of blood from a pair of gashes made by a strike she had been too slow to dodge. "You do realize we helped you," she said as courteously as she could.

“And you do realize I'm a _mage_ , right?” Lissa added, feeling a little braver with the elf at her side. “I need little help from a staff."

"And I could have just as easily stabbed you in the back," Liadan added helpfully, tossing the knife tip down into the soggy ground just a few feet away. "Or did you plan on protecting both of us from demons with just the one sword?"

Cassandra continued to glare, but after a moment, she let out a slow breath through her nose and relaxed. "I suppose you are right. _Both_ of you," she added. "Very well, take them. I shall remember you were willing to give them up."

Nodding, Lissa took back the staff and sheathed it along the special loops in the center of her robes along her back. "Where are we going exactly? To the valley? Where all the fighting is?"

"Yes." The Seeker paused, choosing her words as she slid her sword back into the sheath at her side. "We have to meet with the others. The elf who helped you; you should meet him."

Lissa scowled and watched as the elf picked up her dagger and cleaned it on one pant leg. She did not really remember much until she woke inside her cell, but if anyone amongst all the blame and fear had actually helped prisoners, he deserved some thanks.

As they neared, the sound of battle clashed and rang eerily through the air as it mixed with the odd, pulsing energy of a nearby rift. She cast a spell, instinctively shielding those that fought the demons just ahead.

Liadan gritted her teeth as she sprinted forward with nothing but a knife. “This is foolish,” she snapped as she struck at a demon.

She ducked beneath a large claw and side-stepped as the demon lunged at her, its body suddenly falling limp, a crossbow bolt buried in its eye. With another glance at her wounded arm, she turned and faced the two men they had saved: a dwarf holding a rather impressive crossbow, and an elf—their savior, she assumed.

The elvhen mage beyond was extremely skilled, but Lissa did not have the time to truly appreciate his form while the battle continued. As one demon fell, two more were spewed from the green gash in the air above them. She bit back a growl. “At this rate, we'll run out of mana before the Fade runs out of demons. Is this how it is all across Thedas? They just keep coming!"

Muttering much the same thing in her own tongue, Liadan leapt at the last demon, burying her dagger in its throat as she rode it to the ground. But even as the demonic ichor flowed from its wounds and seeped into her boots, she could see the small tear sputtering and pulsing, preparing to send more demons through.

“Quickly!” the elvhen mage shouted, and he reached out, catching her ‘round the wrist. “Before more come through.”

Liadan gritted her teeth as he lifted her hand toward the tear, viridian sparks spitting from her aching palm, and she let out a sound of pain as a crackling arc of light connected the two. But the tear did not change, and the pain in her palm only worsened, and she struggled against his hold. “It is not working,” she said through clenched teeth, trying to close her hand into a fist, but her body did not respond.

As Liadan's hand was raised toward the rift, Lissa cried out in pain, dropping her staff in the murky slush of blood, snow, and dirt. She clutched her hand to her chest, trying to hold in the painful magic crackling forth. But as the green light arced from the elven woman's palm, she too reached toward the rift, begging it to close, begging the pain to stop.

The elf murmured something, looking over his shoulder as a second beam of light joined the first, the tear pulsing until, with one final throb in each of their hands, it imploded, showering them in sparks and ichor.

Pulling away from the mage, Liadan glanced at her palm to see if the mark had spread further, her expression darkening as she saw that it had. Her pale gaze rose to find the elf’s and she scowled. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” he answered easily, his expression calm despite the oddity of their situation. “The credit is yours.” His gaze slid to the human mage and he bowed his head slightly. “Both of yours.”

Lissa drew near, rubbing her palm with her opposite thumb. "You mean this—whatever it is." She stared at where the rift had been, her eyes squinting in thought. "It seems rather unusual that random chance would gift us with magic that is seemingly the only way to close these . . . holes." She stepped closer, reaching out as if to see if there was still a shred of the magic left, but she felt nothing. "There has to be some connection."

“You are trying to tell me that _we_ can close these—these—" Liadan shook her head and muttered darkly to herself.

“Whatever magic opened the Breach has placed those marks in your hands,” the elf explained. “I went with the assumption that your marks could close the same rifts that had opened in the Breach’s wake. I was right.”

“So it _was_ a hunch.” Shaking her head, Liadan moved toward the human mage. The pain lessened when they were closer.

As the elven rogue neared, Lissa cleared her throat, her thoughts quickly focusing back onto the present. "Is everyone all right?"

The Seeker waved away Lissa’s concern, moving toward the elf mage with a determined look. “You mean it could also close the Breach.”

“Possibly.” He nodded to enunciate his point, clasping his hands together before him as he looked between the Seeker, and the two marked women. “It would seem you hold the key to our salvation.”

“Good to know!” The dwarf snickered and tugged at his gloves. “I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” He moved closer, a rakish grin crossing his lips. “Name’s Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and unwelcome tag-a-long.” The last was said with a wink in the Seeker’s direction.

As she grunted her disapproval, Liadan offered the dwarf her unmarked hand. “Nice shot,” she said, gesturing at the last demon with a jut of her chin.

Lissa chuckled at the roguish Dwarf. In the wake of damning eyes that followed them, he was refreshingly candid. "A pleasure, Master Tethras. I'm Lissa Trevelyan, from Ostwick. Though I doubt that is what anyone will recall after this mess."

“Liadan Lavellan,” Liadan chimed in, giving the crossbow a considering glance.

"The pleasure is mine," he replied smoothly, stroking his crossbow lovingly before holstering it across his back.

"That's an . . . interesting weapon you have there," Lissa remarked, curiously staring at its mechanisms.

He beamed. "Oh. Bianca? She's a beauty, alright."

“Bianca?” Nodding with approval, Liadan cracked a small smile. “Nice name.”

Lissa grimaced. "You named your crossbow?"

He nodded, looking over his shoulder with gushing admiration. "Oh, yes. And she'll be great company in the valley."

“Absolutely not.” Cassandra strode forward, towering over the dwarf. “I appreciate the help, but—“

Varric scowled and quickly interrupted. "Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren't in control anymore." He paused slightly for effect and grinned crookedly. "You need me."

Cassandra let out a noise of disgust and turned on her heel, quickly putting distance between them.

The Elvhen mage was quick to step forward, a friendly smile on his features. “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,” he offered with a nod to each. “I am pleased to see you still live.”

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you,’” Varric offered helpfully.

Lissa grinned, an amused twinkle in her eye at the dwarf’s quip.

Liadan shifted her gaze toward the other elf, a look of mild surprise crossing her face before she mirrored his smile, though there was a curious look in her eyes. “You seem to know an awful lot about it—the mark and that gash in the sky.”

Lissa’s brows furrowed in a questioning look. “So . . . you’re not a Circle Mage I take it?” Lissa wondered aloud.

“Solas is an Apostate,” the Seeker was quick to add, accompanied by a deep scowl, “well-versed in such matters.”

The elf worked to hide another smile. “Technically, _all_ mages are now apostates, Cassandra.” He shifted his gaze between both Liadan and Lissa. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage.” The human mage shifted uncomfortably at his scrutiny. “I came to offer whatever aid I can. If the Breach is not closed, we will all be destroyed, regardless of origin.”

Liadan turned a side-long glance in the only other mage’s direction, wondering if that counted as a backhanded compliment. But the woman simply straightened and smiled with a practiced poise. “I’m sure at such a time as this, all mages would be wise to lend whatever knowledge they have been permitted to learn.”

“Sensible words.” He allowed his smile to grow. “Alas, that seems to be in such short supply at the moment. Cassandra—” His attention returned to the Seeker. “The magic I have witnessed here is unlike any I have ever seen. Though one of your prisoners is most certainly not a mage, I doubt any mage, regardless of their training, would be capable of such power.”

The warrior sighed. “Understood. We must get to the forward camp quickly.” She turned on her heels, leveling a steely gaze at the two marked prisoners. “When you are ready, we will move out.” With determined steps, she stalked through the snow back toward the camp.

“Well,” a rough voice added. The dwarf grinned crookedly. “Bianca’s excited!”

Once the official (and not so official) members had left, and only the two prisoners remained, the human mage cleared her throat to break the silence. “I noticed you were injured.” Her lips gently curved in a warm but cautious grin. “If I may . . . .”

A pale gaze was leveled in Lissa’s direction, the elf coolly watching the mage for a long moment before she slowly nodded.

Lissa nodded, eyes drifting to the two oozing gashes on her left arm. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes, hovering her palm over the wound. A rush of tingling warmth sprang to life beneath the skin as the tissues and skin began to knit themselves together again. With the bleeding stopped and the skin closed, she stepped back to give the woman her space. “There. That should help. You’ll still feel quite bruised for a day or two. I can get rid of that as well, if you wish. Only, if I can conserve what mana I have until we’re through this valley—”

“This is enough.” Liadan glanced at the healed skin before lifting her arm and testing the mage’s job. “You need not worry about it.” She wiped at some of the demon blood on her cheek and nodded toward the Seeker as she continued putting distance between them. “We should go.”

Overhead, the sky let out a fearsome crackling noise, and several viridian green comets fell to the ground, releasing more demons as they boiled and surged on the snow-packed earth. All around them, the wind howled and drove the snow into harried flurries, clinging to their clothes and biting at their exposed skin.

The Seeker’s voice carried through the cold air. “This way!” she barked. “The road is blocked. We will have to go around.”

“We must move quickly,” Solas added, a grim tone to his voice.

Faster and faster they pushed, over rubble and corpses, only pausing to fend off the demons that spewed from the breach. The sound coming from the Breach echoing like cracks spreading along ice that had begun to thaw. It was impossible to ignore.

“So,” a voice questioned lightly. “ _Are_ you innocent?” Varric shot a look of interest between the two prisoners.

Liadan smirked. “Does it matter?”

The dwarf smirked.

“I can’t say for certain,” Lissa answered honestly, a concerned dip forming between her brows. “I really can’t remember anything . . . .”

This earned a resigned shake of his head. “That’ll get you every time. You should’ve spun a story!”

“That’s what you would’ve done,” Cassandra sniped without looking back.

“But it’s more _believable_ ,” Varric was quick to insist. “And less likely to result in premature execution.”

Lissa turned, a curious look on her face. “Have you had much experience in execution worthy accusations, Master Dwarf?”

“No time for that,” Liadan said, her gaze forward. “More demons.” Even as she spoke, she moved ahead, her form melting away into the lengthening shadows beneath a nearby tree.

Both mages turned, their staves in hand. Solas laid a foundational barrage of runes, lighting the ground with intricate symbols, layering one over the other in a terrible trap for the oncoming wave of demons. Lissa went straight for their throats, giving them no quarter. Lightning sparked with raw power, jolting from her staff until the target burst apart in smoldering bits of magic. Between the two, his game of manipulation and her straightforward tactics, their corner of the battle gave the melee combatants plenty of room to work their ruin.

The Seeker and Varric used the mage’s balance of magic to their own advantage. Cassandra sliced one demon nearly in half, ichor spilling across the snow, and across the way, Varric kept up a near constant stream of bolts, holding the demon’s back from overwhelming the mages. Liadan appeared a moment later, her dagger hilt-deep in a demon’s back, and as she shoved its corpse away, she took a moment to search the field, expression relaxing when she saw that the demons were finished.

Breath slipping out in ghostly puffs, Lissa brushed her damp brow with the back of her hand. “Is everyone all right?”

A chorus of assent followed her question, but Cassandra was quick to add, “I hope Leliana and the others made it safely back to camp.”

“She’s resourceful, Seeker.” Varric collected what bolts he could. “They’ll be fine.”

“We’ll see for ourselves when we reach the forward camp,” Solas added. He inclined his head toward the other mage. “Your attacks complemented the runes well.” There was a scholarly tone to his voice, as if complimenting a youth or a student.

Lissa simply nodded and returned it as a compliment. “I sensed the runes blossoming before you placed them. It would have been useless to place more of the same. I decided to trust that your runes were half-decent.” Her lips pulled in a crooked grin. “I suppose it was not a bad decision for a sheltered Circle mage.”

He grinned and nodded, her point made. “Indeed!”

“You weren’t so bad out there,” Varric nodded in Liadan’s direction. “I could hardly get a sight on you. I can only imagine the difficult time they were having. Nicely done.”

“I’ll be glad to have another dagger in my hand.” She flicked blood and gore from the blade as she spoke. “Or rather: two _good_ daggers in my hands.” Her gaze was appreciative as she shot another glance at his crossbow. “Bianca seems a handy weapon.”

With a tender gaze, he spied down the length of the curious weapon. “She's a keeper.”

Soft footsteps crunched next to the elven rogue. “How are those bruises holding up?” Lissa offered with a measured grin.

“Well enough.” Liadan worked to keep her smile. “My thanks.”

The human’s eyes sparked for a moment before her expression muddied with thought. “Oh, wait . . . um—oh, yes!” she exclaimed brightly, eyes wide again. “ _Sathem!_ ”

The rogue’s smile was gone now and her gaze was considering. “Mm,” she replied and turned her gaze to Cassandra as she drew near.

“We will have time enough to talk later,” the Seeker said with a firm expression. “We must press on.”

There were burning carts lining the path as they continued their way up the mountain, and as they finally came to one of the summits, Cassandra lifted one gloved hand, pointing at a horrid green gash. “Another rift; we must seal it!”

But even as they drew closer, the air around the breach bubbled and swelled, spitting out demons that surged toward them with open maws. Liadan held back this time, fingering the hilt of her dagger and watching as the rest began to fight. Both mages cast spells this time, fire and bolts of lightning arcing across the air, burning their foes. The Seeker rushed in with a battle cry, drawing the attention of the remaining demons, and Varric took the opportunity to strike their unprotected backs.

With an excited smirk, Liadan took a step forward, prepared to attack one of the circling smaller demons, when her right hand suddenly cramped and rose toward the rift. Her brows furrowed and she tried to stop her arm from moving, but to no avail.

A beam of light sprouted from both the rift and her palm, and her dagger fell from her unresponsive fingers as the beams connected and the rift began to hum. Sparks of energy crackled and spat from the burgeoning gash and Liadan let out a pain-filled shout as the magic grew and exploded outward, sending the demons reeling and screaming.

Lissa’s cry followed a heartbeat after. Her marked hand spasmed and tremored, and she fumbled with her staff.

“Now! While the demons are weak!” Solas reached out to bolster Lissa, sending another onslaught of fire-based spells at the demons as they staggered. The Seeker took out the two demons closest to Liadan as the rogue worked to recover herself, and a bolt from Bianca took care of the last remaining demon. It lurched and sputtered only a pace away from the human mage before disintegrating, the arrow still sticking from its chest. “Hurry and close the rift!” Solas urged.

Still kneeling in the snow, Liadan gritted her teeth and lifted her aching palm toward the gash as it trembled and flashed. Lissa sneered, leveling her pain-filled gaze on the virulent rift; the strange magic of their marks resonated with something deep in the rift. The magic flooded from their palms as if it were being drawn out of a wound. It latched onto something beyond the visible gash, catching like a snag on a garment. They felt it, both of them, deep in their gut. With a shared look, the pair of prisoners nodded. They reeled back, pulling against the snare with the magic in their palms until the rip in the sky was sewn back together.

The group took a moment to catch their breath and Liadan accepted the hand that Cassandra offered her. “Rift is gone!” the Seeker shouted toward the double doors only a stone’s throw away. “Open the gate!“  
  
“Right away, Lady Cassandra,” came the immediate answer, and several soldiers moved to obey.

Solas let out a long breath and shifted his grip on his staff. “We are clear for the moment. Rest if you can.”

Lissa paused, absently drawing back a stray strand of hair from her face. Her eyes were fixated on her palm, studying the strange brand fate had given her. One finger outlined it carefully as her golden eyes narrowed their gaze.  

“Whatever that thing on your hand is, it’s useful,” Varric said, coming to walk between Liadan and Lissa as they made their way toward the gate a moment later.

Wistfully, she remarked aloud, “Yes . . .  convenient, that.” She tilted her head, regarding the mark with an aggravated curiosity. “What are you?” she whispered as they drew closer.  
  
The doors creaked open to reveal another bridge, this one covered in soldiers and Chantry members milling atop the cobblestones. As though there had been a signal, they all turned and looked at the incoming group, their gazes focused on the two women who had been prisoners only hours before. Just a stone’s throw ahead, they could make out a familiar feminine voice saying: “—in the temple of Sacred Ashes. It is our only chance.”

“You have already caused enough trouble without this exercise in futility.”

The hooded woman straightened, eyes gleaming like a snake. “ _I_ have caused enough trouble?”

“ _You_ —ah.” Rising from the table, the Chantry brother locked eyes with the group. “Here they come.”

Leliana moved to greet them, offering Cassandra a brief smile. “You made it. Chancellor Roderick, this is—”

“I _know_ who they are.” His dark eyes narrowed as he turned his gaze to the once-prisoners. “As grand chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take these criminals to Val Royeaux to face execution.”

Before either woman could reply, Cassandra moved forward, a fearsome sight with her blood-stained armor and fierce gaze. “You order _me?_ You are nothing more than a glorified _clerk._ ” Her voice dripped with disdain. She nearly spat the next words.“A bureaucrat.”

“And you are a _thug_ ,” he replied with just as much distaste. “But a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry.”

“We serve the Most Holy,” Leliana corrected. “As you well know, Chancellor.”

His expression soured and he lifted his hands with frustration. “Justinia is dead.” His voice echoed over the bridge for a moment; all eyes were on the small party. Both Cassandra and Leliana stiffened and the chancellor made sure to lower his voice before continuing. “We must elect a replacement and obey her orders on the matter.”

“I would think that closing that giant hole in the sky would be more important,” Liadan dared to say, cleaning out the blood from beneath her nails.

“You brought this on us in the first place,” he spat, utter distaste on his features as he looked on the elf and the mage beside her. Cassandra moved forward again, drawing his attention momentarily. “Call a retreat, Seeker; our position here is hopeless.”

She shook her head. “We can stop this before it’s too late.”

“How?” he asked scornfully. “We won’t survive long enough to reach the temple, even with all your soldiers.”

“But we must get to the temple,” she insisted. “It is the quickest route.”

Leliana pursed her lips. “But not the safest. Look.” She gestured over the bridge. “Our forces can charge forward—cause a distraction—while you go through the mountains.”

“We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It’s too risky,” the Seeker stated as Liadan and Lissa shared a glance before looking at the nearby peak.

The chancellor clasped his hands. “Listen to me: abandon this now before more lives are lost.”

Yet, even as the words left his lips, the ground began to quake, and above them, the sky shuddered and the huge hole in the sky spewed forth thick bolts of viridian energy. Cassandra turned as grunts of pain came from behind her, both Lissa and Liadan clutching their wrists as their marked palms shook and spat identical sparks of magic. Even the chancellor paused to watch as both women straightened, the pain leaving their expressions as the marks gave one final pulse and went silent.

“How do you think we should proceed?” the Seeker asked suddenly, her gaze shifting between the two women.

“ _Now_ you want to ask us what we think?” Liadan asked incredulously.

Lissa shifted her weight between her heels, her eyes slightly narrowing in consideration. “It does seem an odd amount of responsibility to grant mere prisoners.”

“You wear the marks,” Solas said simply.

Cassandra nodded. “And you are the ones we must keep alive.” With a dismissive gesture to the chancellor behind her, she added, “Since we cannot agree on our own, the two of you should decide.”

Lissa frowned. “That seems a poor excuse for those who once ruled the whole of Thedas alongside the most powerful religious organization in our country. But if you insist . . . I suppose in the end, it would look better if you had someone else to blame for the outcome.” She sighed, a bit of poison in her tired voice.

“Figures,” Liadan agreed. The elven rogue shook her head, disbelief and frustration coloring her words. “Fine. We’ll decide.”

With a look of concern over her shoulder, Lissa stepped away from the grimacing Chancellor and the Hands of the Most Holy. Liadan was only a step behind. Lissa’s eyes stared down at her feet, considering the many facets of such a decision.

“You realize, no matter the outcome of this decision, _we_ will be the one’s to be held accountable.”

Tapping her thumb against each finger, Liadan glared over the edge of the bridge, her pale gaze tracing over the landscape as she considered their options. She inclined her head to show that she had heard, but she did not answer right away.

With a sigh, the mage let slip her thoughts aloud, “Well, for better or for worse, I suppose. Perhaps it is this Seeker’s way of giving us penance in the public eye. I find it hard to believe that this Chancellor really holds that much influence over the Hands of the Divine. Allowing us to make the decision is convenient no matter the outcome. However,” she paused, leaning her elbows on the railing, seeking out the horizon with several blinks, “should we ensure their success, it looks much better for the Seeker.” She turned toward the elf, a single brow raised. “And for us.”

“Penance for a crime they cannot prove we committed,” Liadan said quietly, her fingers pausing their incessant rhythm. “But your words make sense, though I do not claim to know how your . . . religion works.” She drew in another deep breath, meeting the mage’s gaze before turning her gaze back to the mountainside. “I would go for the tunnel.”

She nodded. “I agree. In the event we do fail, at least in the attempt we might rescue those that are stranded.” The woman held the elf’s eyes for a moment, nodding in acceptance. With a stiff turn and a forced straightening of her back, she declared, “We will take the mountain pass.”

“At this rate, we won’t live long enough for a trial,” Liadan added with some sarcasm, walking past them and moving to the opposite end of the bridge. “Might as well do what we can in the time we have left.”

“Leliana, bring everyone left in the valley.” Cassandra turned and followed. “ _Everyone._ ”

But the chancellor still had parting words, and he lifted his voice loud enough to be heard over the murmuring of the other soldiers. “The consequences be on your head, Seeker.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan and Trevelyan attempt to seal the Breach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter format adjusted on 01/23/2016. Chapter one was combined with the prologue, and the content for chapter two has been added here. In this way, the chapter assignments by AO3's drop-down bars will all line up.

_"Lo! My eyes open'd, shining before me . . . hand all outstretch'd, stars glist'ning as jewels . . . ."_

_—_ _Andraste 1:8_

 

**Chapter Two**

 

The higher they climbed, the colder it got. Overhead, the sky was a dim grey, and though the wind had died down, the snow continued to fall, only adding to the difficulty they had as they crunched their way through several inches of snowfall on the mountainside. Cassandra had quickly passed both Liadan and Lissa, leading the way toward the pass. No one had bothered to talk since they had left the bridge below some hours before.

Though they did their best to hide it, both Lissa and Liadan began to slow, weariness and pain marring their features as they struggled to keep pace with the rest, and to push on despite the pulsating pain that echoed within their arms. The mage looked even paler, her freckles standing out in stark relief against her pallid skin, and though Liadan did not utter a single complaint, her jaw was clenched as the unfamiliar waves of magic thrummed outward from the mark in her palm.

At last, they came to a series of wooden ladders and platforms. The wind howled overhead, trapped between the platforms and mountainside, whistling into the entrance of the tunnel.

Pausing at the base of the first ladder, Cassandra glanced over her shoulder. “The tunnel should be just ahead. The path to the Temple lies just beyond it.”

Lissa squinted, straining to see the top. “And . . . I suppose there is no other option than climbing?”

“Does not look like it,” Liadan commented, reaching out to test the first few rungs. They creaked and groaned, but held fast.

Lissa tensed her jaw and gave a hard swallow. “Well, then let us hope our hands decide to behave while we ascend.”

Solas’ brows furrowed, pausing a bit to study the stretching span of wooden supports before them. “What manner of tunnel is this? A mine?”

The Seeker nodded, securing her sword and shield in preparation for the climb. “Part of an old mining complex. These mountains are full of such paths.”

Varric raised a brow, eyeing the pass with concern. “And your missing soldiers are in there somewhere?”

A clipped sigh slipped from Solas’ nose. “Along with whatever has detained them.”

“We should use caution,” Lissa added. “I don’t yet trust this magic, and being hemmed in by the mines might pose a danger to us, as well.”

Cassandra eyed the two prisoners with a glint of suspicion. “We shall see soon enough.”

“I will go first.” Liadan placed her hands and a foot on the rungs, taking a moment to test her full weight on the ladder before ascending. “I am quite used to scouting.”

The ladders held and they slipped into the tunnel without any further pause. It was shockingly dark after having been outside for so long, and both of the elves’ silently moved forward to lead the group. Their eyes flashed in the dim light, and they conversed softly before Solas summoned veilfire to his free hand and took the lead.

It did not take long for them to run into more demons, and they fought two more groups before they finally came out on the other side of the mountain. Though they had yet to sustain any further injuries, Cassandra allowed them all a short respite, just before they left the tunnel. Her dark gaze remained on the two women as they worked to catch their breath, even as they pushed on through the cold.

There were bodies to greet them.

Varric sighed heavily, giving the fallen scouts a pitying glance. “Guess that means we found the missing soldiers.”

Cassandra raked an experienced gaze over the carnage. “This cannot be all of them.”

“So . . . they could be holed up ahead?” Lissa dared a hopeful tone.

“Our priority must be the Breach,” Solas insisted, though he, too, gave the motionless bodies a commiserating look. “Unless we seal it soon, no one will be safe.”

“I’m leaving that to the ladies with the glowing hands,” Varric quipped, following the Seeker as she continued trudging through the snow.

A familiar feeling began to pulse within the hands of the once-prisoners. With a quick glance at one another—no one else could feel it—they nodded and alerted the rest of their party.

Yet another rift awaited them on a small stone platform overlooking the mountain. Demons were already patrolling the stone, but there, still fighting, was the rest of the missing patrol.

“The soldiers!” Cassandra barked, levelling her sword toward the group. “Lieutenant, you’re alive!”

“Just barely,” she managed to answer, ducking beneath the claws of one demon.

Joining the struggling patrol, the reinforcements quickly helped overwhelm the remaining demons, and as before, Lissa and Liadan closed the rift, though this time, the pain was marginal.

Solas neared the pair, settling a measuring gaze on them. “Sealed, just like the rest. You are becoming quite proficient at this.”

“Let’s just hope it works on the one swallowing the sky,” Varric sniped, a tired smirk on his lips.

“Thank the Maker you arrived when you did, Lady Cassandra,” the lieutenant said as the Seeker helped her to her feet. “I don’t think we could have held out much longer.”

Cassandra looked over her shoulder, her expression softening briefly. “Thank our prisoners. They were the ones who decided to come this way.”

“The prisoners?” The lieutenant stiffened in surprise, looking at the two women who had been unconscious earlier that same day. “Then you . . . ?”

A gentle grin tugged on the human mage’s lips as she inclined her head politely. “It was worth saving you, if we could.” She grinned, turning toward her fellow prisoner. “We _both_ believed so.”

“Then you have my sincere gratitude.” She placed one fist to her chest and bowed, earning a mildly surprised look from Liadan, but the elf did nothing more than nod her head in return.

“The path returning to the valley is clear of demons,” Cassandra added, pointing in the direction they had just come. “You should go while it still remains that way.”

With another bow, the lieutenant led the remainder of her men to the tunnel.

Solas straightened, still managing to keep the prisoners within his line of sight as he turned towards the Seeker. “The path ahead appears to be clear of demons, as well.”

“Then let’s hurry before that changes.” The warrior gripped her shield and holstered her sword for travelling. It would seem her weary prisoners were not to be given respite anytime soon.

“Don’t worry; she’ll warm up to you sometime,” Varric offered the pair, a crooked grin shining through the splattered blood and sweat on his craggy face. “It took us a long time to get along, but you can tell she’s very used to me by now.”  
  
Lissa scowled, her nose twisted as if she had smelt something unpleasant. “You’re saying that you’re friends?”

His eyes sparkled. “I said she’s used to me. I also said ‘sometime.’ I haven’t seen it yet, but I’m not a dwarf without faith. I’ve seen you close rifts, afterall. I have to believe more than one miracle can happen.

It was easier going down the mountain than it had been coming up. But without the tunnels, they were unprotected from the wind as it tore around the side of the mountain, and the sun was caught behind a thick layer of clouds. Despite the wooden pathways and the sometimes gentle slope of the path, everyone began to look as weary as they felt.

Varric broke the tired silence, sparing a glance at the nearing Breach. “So . . . holes in the Fade don’t just _accidentally_ happen, right?”

“If enough magic could be focused and maintained, it is theoretically possible,” Solas answered, using his staff to aid him over some of the more dangerous terrain.

“But there are _easier_ ways to make things go _boom_.” He cradled his head in thought.

“You seem to have experience in yet another field of curious behaviors, Master Dwarf,” Lissa said, a crooked smile bunching up one cheek, pink from the cold.

“That is true,” Solas added. He smiled bemusedly. “On both counts.”

Cassandra shook her head, grunting as yet another harsh gust of wind struck them. “We can consider _how_ this happened once the immediate danger is past.”

As they came to a set of snow-covered stairs, Liadan spoke over her shoulder: “Careful here. These are likely slick from ice.”

With careful, hurried steps, they descended the slippery stairs until their feet crunched on rubble instead of ice. Spires of black stood out from the explosion, and small fires still crackled amidst the fresh rubble. The heat of it melted all the surrounding snow. It was still warm enough to draw a sweat from their brows.

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Solas intoned solemnly.

“You mean what’s left of it,” Varric muttered, glancing around the rubble with a scowl. “Damn.” He turned a pitiful gaze on the two marked women. “They really thought you did this?”

Lissa’s eyes were fixed on the damage, her features weighed down with dejection. “It would seem so.” Liadan remained silent.

Pausing for a moment, Cassandra glanced about, her expression indecipherable. “This is where you walked out of the fade and our soldiers found you. I still cannot believe you are alive . . . They say a woman was in the rift behind you.” Her voice softened as she pushed on. “No one knows who.”

Lissa sighed, shifting her hold on her staff as if to gain some security in its familiar weight. “I only wish I knew. I can’t remember anything.”

Stepping over rubble and dodging loose pillars, they pressed toward the center of the Temple.

“There are bodies everywhere,” Liadan murmured from her scouting position several yards ahead, staring at a shriveled corpse. “Damned magic,” she muttered. 

“This . . . this is terrible.” The rest of the group paused once they had caught up, and Lissa was not the only one to cast a horror-stricken gaze across the carnage. Her hands gripped her staff to catch her balance as her breath quickened, and her knuckles peaked with white. “And they think we did this? No wonder they harbor so much hate for our faces . . . .”

The elven rogue shook her head and circled the burning remains. “If they think that we could do this, one mage and an elf who could not cast a spell to save her life, then they are more foolish that I thought. No mortal could cause this.”

Still they continued, pushing toward the center, and the sight of the temple grew worse and worse. Each of the remains was caught in their last moment, bodies broken or twisted grotesquely, each looking as though they had been blown back by a great force. Some still burned, and the scent of charred flesh was heavy in the air. Bits of soot and ash fell like black snow, sticking to their clothes and hair.

Lissa held up a hand, catching some of it in her palm. A tear pooled at the corner of one amber eye. “Ash. How disgustingly ironic.” A harsh sniff in the back of her throat brought on some composure. “This is not what was supposed to happen here. We wanted—the Divine wanted—some sort of solution. And now . . . .”

“Now we’re even worse off than we were before,” Liadan stated, but there was no cruelty in her tone.

The closer they drew to the epicenter, the worse the destruction. Eventually, they came to one wall that had managed to stay in tact, the bricks offering them a moment’s shelter. And only a stone’s throw away, past a half-crumbled staircase, was the largest rift they had seen, the Breach yawning above them.

This close, they could hear the giant rift. It creaked and groaned, like a massive ship caught in a storm, and intermittently, great flashes of light broke away and struck the ground, causing a rumble that echoed within their chests.

“The Breach is a long way up,” Varric said, turning in a circle as they continued on.

Footsteps echoed behind them, and they turned in time to see Leliana leading the troops that had made it through the charge. “You made it,” she said, moving to join them. “Thank the Maker.”

“Leliana, we need you to keep us covered. We do not know what will happen when we attempt this.” Cassandra ordered. The lithe woman nodded, slipping back into the shadows and drawing the archers with her. “This is your chance to put an end to this,” the Seeker continued, coming to stand between Lissa and Liadan. “Are you ready?”

“I’m not even sure we can reach it,” Liadan answered, looking out at the rift, weighing her dagger in her hand. She turned her gaze to Lissa. “But we won’t know until we try.”

Lissa’s gaze was fixed on the rift, eyes squinting to near closed. “I have a very bad feeling about this, but I suppose we don’t have a choice.”

“No,” Solas interjected, watching the rift as it spun and throbbed. “This rift was the first, and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

“Then, let’s find a way down,” Cassandra insisted, a battle-hard edge tightening her features. She gripped her sword, turning to the women before adding, “And be careful.”

The Breach snapped and convulsed, sending out bolts of sickly green into the atmosphere. Each time it jolted to life, fresh pain jerked from their palms as the marks mirrored the violent, eerie tremors. Bit of rock and rubble floated in the air above and around the rift, defying gravity and pulsing with the same virid shade of green, as though beating in time with the heart of the Breach.

A voice suddenly echoed within the temple remains, clear and cold. “Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.”

Lissa’s fingertips flared with light, magic at the ready. “Who is that?”

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra dared to ask.

“At a guess: the person who created the Breach,” Solas dared to answer.

Liadan cast a suspicious look over her shoulder, but did not stop. “That is an interesting hypothesis,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

The elven mage scowled. “Listen,” he implored as the voice continued to repeat the same phrase. “It seems the rift has sealed for us a portion of what happened. Perhaps if we progress, we might learn the truth of it.”

“I hate to add more bad news to a very dire situation, but you should know: _that_ is red lyrium.” Varric gestured to an odd spire, clear like rubies but thrumming with a pulse of magic.

“Well, now I find myself even more hopeful I live through this suture; I have more questions than ever. I’d hate to die without knowing them,” Lissa dryly added.

The Seeker curled her lip. “I know what it is, Varric.”

His scowl deepened. “You don’t know it like I do. And I’m telling you, despite the shit that’s already happened, it’s now worse. _Believe_ me.” He shook his head and gave the lyrium another angry glance. “What is it doing _here_?”

“There was lyrium beneath the Temple. Perhaps it was corrupted in some way . . . .” Solas considered the implications.

“Well, it’s evil,” Varric insisted. “Whatever you do, don’t touch it!”

Taking a wide berth, Liadan continued, picking her way over rubble and casting repeated glances toward the gaping hole in the sky. Her nose was wrinkled as though she smelled something she hated, and the glances she cast at the sky were tinged with distaste.

As they neared, the voice started again.

“Keep the sacrifice still,” the disembodied voice ordered.

“Someone, help me!” a woman shouted.

Cassandra stopped mid-step, the color draining from her face. “That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” Without waiting, the Seeker dashed forward, quickly overtaking Liadan as she scrambled over loose rubble to make her way to the rift.

The ground trembled beneath their feet as they finally came to bottom of the caldera; before them, the rift stretched and contracted, viridian crystals grinding against one another. Answering flickers of light blossomed in the women’s palms.

“Someone, help me!”

“What’s going on here?” Lissa asked, but the words did not come from Lissa’s mouth.

Liadan glanced at the mage beside her. “That was your voice,” she said softly, eyes narrowed with suspicion.  

“I—I don’t remember any of it,” the woman stuttered. “I swear,” she added in defense to Cassandra’s sharp look.

“Most Holy called out to you,” the Seeker stated, her features caught between suspicion and hope. But before she could continue speaking, the rift gave another rumble, this one the loudest yet. A flash of white light spread across the sky, and as it subsided, it revealed a shadowy form with eyes that burned like fire. Before him, a woman was bound by magic.

Two figures appeared nearby; both Liadan and Lissa stared at the woman. “What’s going on here?” the shadowy Lissa asked.

“Let her go,” Liadan ordered, her see through form taking a step toward the shadow.

“Run while you can!” the voice of the Divine urged, her ghostly visage pressed with concern.

“We have intruders,” the shadow bellowed. “Kill them. Now.”

There was another brilliant flash, and then the sky was once again torn by the Breach. “Both of you _were_ there,” Cassandra accused, moving toward the two women. “Who attacked? And the Divine, is she—was this vision true? What are we seeing?”

“I told you, I don’t remember,” Lissa insisted through gritted teeth.

Liadan continued staring at the rift, her brows furrowed as she blinked slowly. “This makes no sense. If we were there, why can’t we remember?”

“They are echoes, shadows of what happened here.” Solas’ grey eyes narrowed on the shuddering breach. “The Fade bleeds into this place. This rift is not entirely sealed, although it is closed. But only temporarily.” He turned, setting a cautious gaze on them. “With those marks, I believe the rift can be opened. Then we can close it completely and safely. However,” his face dipped with a scowl. “That will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons.” Cassandra looked around the ruins, making sure she had the attention of the troops. “Stand ready!”

Both Lissa and Liadan moved forward as the other men and women moved into position. Swords rang as they were pulled from their sheathes, and archers drew their first arrows, notching them to their bows as they waited, prepared.

Lissa turned a gaze toward the elf, waiting until their eyes met for a moment before calling out to Cassandra. “Just give the word.”

“Now!”

Lifting her right hand as Lissa raised her left, Liadan watched as twin beams of magic arced from their palms and connected with the rift. For a moment, the magic wavered and throbbed, reflecting from the rift toward their hands and back again. Then, with a sound loud as thunder, the tether snapped and the rift roared.

The earth shuddered, nearly knocking them to the ground. All at once, an oppressive weight seeped into the atmosphere, charged with the tantalizing thrill of self-glory. A pride demon had stepped through the rift.

It was huge, towering over them all by several meters, and electric blue bolts of energy trailed over his muscular bulk. Arrows raced through the air, but they did little good against the tough spines that covered its body. With each failed attack, it bellowed disdainfully, gaining strength in anything in which it found pride.

The sounds of battle were drowned out in their throbbing pulses, and the bellowing cry of injured soldiers lost in the crack and sputter of the Breach.

“We must strip its defenses; wear it down!” Somehow the warrior’s voice carried to them among the battle din.

“There are more coming through the rift!” Solas warned, throwing a barrier over the elven woman, just as the demon summoned a burning whip. It arced over them, connecting with a crackling sizzle that knocked her sideways, but otherwise she remained uninjured as the glowing blue of the shield remained in place.

Lissa moved forward to give the elf a chance to recover, electricity humming around her staff. With several quick movements, she cast bolt after bolt at the demon, staying just out of reach of the whip and working to keep her footing among the loose gravel.

With a barking laugh, the pride demon continued its rampage, stomping heavily and knocking back more soldiers with a simple backward pass of its hand.

Liadan gritted her teeth as she rose to her feet, cradling her bruised arm and dropping a broken dagger as she glared at the pride demon as it summoned more magic to protect its hide. Without a thought, she lifted her marked palm toward the rift, forcing the energy to bend to her will, rather than the demon’s, and after a moment, the demon stumbled, cut off from the rift, if only for a moment. “Attack it now!”

The remaining soldiers closed in, hacking at the demon’s unprotected back and legs, while arrow after arrow made their mark along Pride’s arms and neck. A crossbow bolt sunk deep into its left shoulder even as a well-placed ward sent ice creeping upward along its calves, holding it fast. Cassandra and Lissa moved forward, the mage casting bolt after bolt of lightning as the Seeker nearly cleaved the demon’s right arm from its shoulder. Liadan bided her time, aimed, and threw her remaining dagger, watching as the blade sank deep into the beast’s chest. Another of Lissa’s spells struck the hilt of the blade, sending electricity surging straight into the demon, and with one last roar of defiance, Pride fell.

“Now! Seal the rift!” Solas urged.

“Do it!” the Seeker barked.

Once again, twin beams of energy spanned from Liadan and Lissa’s palms, connecting with the rift and sending flashes of viridian lightning outward from the rift. It pulsed, sending a shockwave back toward the heavens until the Breach thrummed with power. It responded and sent a resounding boom echoing across the countryside, the remaining energy swirling upward like a whirlwind. The magic raced back to their palms, knocking them to the ground, and then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A: Wow! Thanks for all of the positive feedback so early! We appreciate you! Thank you for joining us on this somewhat challenging journey. It is a labor of love that we hope you will enjoy. <333
> 
> P.S. If you want to know more about Liadan and Lissa, you can check out some of our other works. Be forewarned, some major romance plot points ***WILL BE SPOILED*** if you read them! But if you like AUs of AUs, and enjoy reading romances several times over, check them out! Between them all, there are nearly 200k more words with which to gorge your minds.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at Haven, Liadan and Lissa must determine what their role will be in this new "Inquisition."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Chama on her birthday!

_“All things in this world are finite._ _  
_ _What one man gains, another has lost.”_

_-Transfigurations 1:5_

  


**Chapter 3**

 

** **

 

 

 

It was the sound of countless people murmuring that woke her. Liadan slowly opened her eyes, turning her gaze to a candle that burned on the table beside the bed on which she lay.

 _How did I get here?_ She shifted her weight and pushed herself up into a sitting position, realizing a moment later that her wounds had been tended to and that she was dressed only in a set of small clothes that were not her own. _And who took my clothes?_

Casting another look around the room, she recognized it as the small hut where she had been kept earlier, the first time after she had awoken after the explosion that destroyed the Temple. But she was alone this time, or nearly alone, and neither Cassandra nor Solas were there to answer her questions.

Just a few feet away, the human mage—Lissa—continued to sleep soundly in a separate bed, the occasional soft snore escaping her lips. With a moment to herself, Liadan took in the sight of her partner, for better or worse. She circled the bed and peered down at the mage, noting her soft, feminine features and freckled cheeks, and the messy halo of copper-colored curls that covered the pillow. The rest of her looked just as soft, save the calluses Liadan could see on both of Lissa’s hands, and though the mage looked young, Liadan doubted that Lissa was younger than herself.

Keeping quiet, Liadan moved away from the beds and prowled around the room, glancing out the windows, rifling with the loose papers atop a messily-kept desk, giving the notes a passing glance, before snooping through the different chests placed throughout the room. In the one chest placed at the end of her borrowed bed, she found a simple outfit that looked like it would fit her, and with another glance around the room, she began to get dressed. After slipping on a pair of pants and a loose, long-sleeved tunic, she tied her pale hair back with a strip of clean cloth that had also been in the chest.

As she rose from where she had knelt near the bed, she heard someone at the door, and she turned in time to see a slender elf enter the building, carrying a small crate filled with—

“Ah!” There came the sound of a series of crashes from the crate as it fell to the floor and the elf took a faltering step backward as she stared at Liadan. “I didn’t know you were awake. I-I swear.”

Lissa stirred, her face twisting into a frown at the sound, but she did not appear to wake.

“You do not have to be frightened,” Liadan answered calmly, tilting her head as she held her hands out beside her in a non-threatening manner. “What happened?”

But the elf took another small step back, wringing her hands as she did so. “That’s wrong, isn’t it?" she asked with a trembling voice. "I said the wrong thing, didn’t I?”

“I don’t . . . think so.” Tilting her head the other way, Liadan offered the other elf a small smile, hoping to ease her obvious nervousness.

“I beg your forgiveness,” the elf said meekly, dropping to her knees and bowing her head. “And your blessing. I am but a humble servant. You are back in Haven, my lady.” Liadan’s smile disappeared immediately as she fisted her hands at her sides. “They said you saved us,” the elf continued, unknowing of Liadan's rising ire. “The Breach stopped glowing, just like the mark on your hand.”

Dropping her gaze to her right hand, Liadan stared in surprise, just now noticing that the once brilliantly-flashing mark had gone dark. _But it’s not gone._ Even as she watched, the mark flickered briefly, then, went dim.

“It’s all they’ve talked about for three days.”

Liadan lifted her gaze to the young elf, her frown remaining when she saw that the elf was still bowing. “Three days? Then . . . we _did_ close that large rift.”

“Yes, my lady. But the Breach is still in the sky, but that’s what they say.” Slowly, the elf began to rise to her feet, though she kept her gaze deferentially on the ground. “I-I’m certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you’ve awakened, even if it’s just one of you.” She clasped her hands together and glanced at Lissa’s still sleeping form. “That’s what she said: at once.”

“And where is she?” Taking a step forward, Liadan watched as the elf continued to warily put distance between them. “Can you tell me?”

“I-In the Chantry, with the Lord Chancellor.” She turned and side-stepped toward the door. “A-At once, she said,” the young elf concluded before shutting the door behind her.

Still standing in the middle of the room, Liadan huffed unhappily and absentmindedly rubbed at her marked palm. She cast a considering glance at Lissa as the mage continued to sleep, then, with a sigh, Liadan bent and gathered the dropped crate, set it aside, and made her way to the door.

It was bright outside and there was a gathering of people that looked like they had been just standing around _waiting_ for one of them to come out of the building. She paused for only a moment, quickly steeling herself as she continued walking, pretending that it did not bother her that all these humans were staring at her. But as she drew closer, the soldiers placed their fists to their chests and bowed their heads, just as the lieutenant had done on the mountaintop, and she felt her stomach clench.

“That’s one of them,” one of the humans said, not noticing the sudden tension that appeared within the slender elf’s frame. “A Herald of Andraste.”

“Hush,” a woman said, averting her gaze as Liadan came to the edge of crowd. “We ought not disturb her.”

 _Too late for that,_ Liadan thought bitterly, and walked faster the moment she broke free of the crowd. She quickly took the stairs to her left and paused at the top, glancing around at the temporary tents and the buildings that looked much like the one in which she had awoken. Looking at both the left and right path, she chose the left when she saw that it led to the largest building, which she hoped was the Chantry the other elf had mentioned.

“There’s one of them now.” Another group milled around a campfire, trying to look like they were not watching her, but Liadan could feel their gazes like flies on her skin. “She’s one of the women who kept the Breach from getting bigger.”

“I heard they were supposed to close it entirely.”

With a deep breath, Liadan brushed past them, hiding the frustration and anger that was beginning to build in her chest. But she was not fast enough to miss the last parting comment.

“She and the other one can seal the rest of the rifts.” There was an almost wondering laugh. “Our own Heralds of Andraste.”

“Oh for god’s sake,” Liadan muttered as she slipped between tents and worked to keep away from the larger groups. _I should’ve worn a hood or something. These people are so desperate, they’re grasping at straws_ — _trying to force me to fit into their religion._

Eventually, she began to circle the camp, hiding in the shadows and keeping her gaze on the ground when she could not. As she came at last to the Chantry, she paused before the double doors, her expression wavering as she debated on whether or not she wanted to go in. On one hand, she wondered if she ought to wait for Lissa. But another, far more selfish part of her just wanted to get away from all these humans and their assumptions and the constant attention that she could feel weighing on her like heavy armor.

At last, she pushed at the heavy doors and stepped inside, entering the room and quickly melding into the deep shadows the building provided. “No one will mind if I wait here,” she murmured, glancing at the countless candles and rifling through papers and missives as she prowled the great hall. _Lissa will get here sooner or later, and then we can talk to Cassandra. Together._

She cast another glance around the room, spying a set of stairs that lead down to a basement or cellar. With a slightly less frustrated look, she silently made her way down the steps. “But in the meantime . . . .”

 

  


Lissa Trevelyan pushed up onto one elbow, sparing a moment to glance around the room. There were rough wooden beams stretched out overhead. Thin shadows danced across it, and a dim light brought out the warmth of the bare wood. The candle set her shadow to dancing on the wall next to her, and a toppled crate of herbs had been hastily set aside. Across from her, a bed with rumpled blankets lay empty. _Probably Liadan_. She rose, stifling a shiver from the state of her undress. With a sense of urgency, she darted around the room until she happed upon a set of clothing in a nearby chest that she assumed was for her.

Dressed and warm, Lissa cautiously padded around the room, studying what information she could find. “Hmm . . . .” _It seems that these are a record of medical treatment we received._ But this did not appear to be a clinic. And it certainly was not like the cell. In fact, it seemed as though the door was unlocked. Were they suddenly so trusting of the ones they had wanted to kill? She shook her head. At least it was better than chains. Closer inspection to the paper noted several days worth of logs. Her brows furrowed. _How long have we been treated here?_

Making quick work of a braid, she pushed the door open and stepped outside. She braced against the chill, but it was the least of her aggravations. Everywhere, pairs of gawking eyes followed her every move. Soldiers, men, women, even children stared at her.

A set of soldiers bowed. “Walk safely, Herald of Andraste.”

She tucked her chin down and kept her eyes on her steps, but it did nothing to block out their not-so-soft whispers.

“They said that when she came out of the Fade, Andraste herself was watching over her.”

“It’s more than anyone else has done. Demons would have overrun us otherwise.”

“You really think she’s a Herald? Sent from Andraste?”

Her steps quickened, racing to be rid of their stares. In her haste, she stumbled over a rock, half-hidden beneath a layer of snow. She stretched out her arms, catching herself on—something. 

“Well, I had hoped to see you after that Breach mess,” a familiar voice quipped from just beneath her. “But I didn’t see it going like this.”

Scrambling to get upright, she bowed in apology. “I am so sorry, Master Tethras. My clumsiness does you a fault.”

He simply waved it off, plopping onto a log near the fire. “Better me than the fire.” His eyes focused behind her, then returned to her face with a crooked grin. “Not that I can’t see why, but it seems you have a lot curious eyes after you now.”

With a quick glance over her shoulder, she noticed a small crowd had gathered, gossiping about the new-found ‘Heralds’. She huffed, flopping herself down on the log next to him. “It is certainly a change in demeanor, though I think I preferred distant glares to their quite obvious stares.”

He laughed, and the clear, genuine sound eased her tension a bit. “I can only imagine. It’s hard work being a celebrity.” There was a knowingness in his tone that gave her pause.

“Thank you, for your help,” she offered, reaching near her boots to pick up a fallen leaf half hidden in the slush.

“Me?” He raised a brow and chuckled. “Me and Bianca had a good time. But to be honest, I’m rather glad we had the glowing brigade there. I doubt that hole would have shut without you.”

Her eyes lifted toward the heavens, squinting as she sought out the Breach. True, the rift had closed, and the mark on her hand had not surged with magic since she woke. But a garish scar still cut across the sky, a bright reminder of what they had lost at the Conclave. “Considering what was at stake, I suppose I can understand their curiosity, even if I don’t appreciate the attention.” She tossed the leaf into the flame, watching it send sparks of light drifting on the cold breeze.

“Well, as much as I’d love to continue commiserating with one of the Heralds herself,” she shot him a glare, “Cassandra made us swear that, should any of us see you, we would direct you to see her in the Chantry.” He rubbed his bicep with a grimace and chuckled dryly. “She was very insistent. Already saw the little ghost heading that way, so you’ll want to catch up.”

Her eyes rested on the large building at the center of their camp. With a push, she rose and dusted off the bits of ash and snowflakes that had stuck to her robes. “Well, let us see if I get to spend another night in a bed or in chains.”

Skirting around the onlookers, both soldier and civilian alike, Lissa pushed against the rough, heavy doors of the Chantry. Inside was warm, with wide beams pointing toward heaven. The sombre atmosphere was supposed to direct people to being introspective, reflective, and sombre during their worship. Apparently, it was not working. The Seeker’s voice was heard shouting, arguing with a male voice that seemed vaguely familiar.

There was a soft humming coming from a side passage, and a moment later, Liadan stepped out of the darkness, tucking something into the bindings at her chest. She looked up as she came to the main floor, and her expression could have been construed as warm. “Sleep well?” she asked softly.

“Well enough, I suppose. I only wonder how long.” She spared a moment, without the barking breathing of Seeker down her neck or chains to chafe her wrists, to study her fellow ‘Herald’. She was lithe and guarded, with pale marking of the Dalish tracing delicate paths under the corners of her measuring green-grey eyes. Silvery hair caught the light, refusing to be warmed by the candles, and threw it back with a cool sheen.

“Three days, or so I was told,” Liadan offered helpfully, and cast a look toward the door at the end of the hall. “Funny how you never feel like you sleep that long.”

Lissa crossed her arms about her chest. “Have you talked to the Seeker yet?” It might be too much to hope that the elf had already concluded their business with the woman, but she was hopeful nonetheless.

“Face her by myself, you mean?” She tilted her head and flashed a razor-sharp smirk. “No.”

“Ah,” Lissa replied, not bothering to mask her deflated hope. “Well, I suppose we might as well get it over with.” She paused to take in the yelling match from beyond the hall. “Do you think they’ll mind if we interrupt?”

Liadan’s smirk grew before vanishing completely. “I think that depends on which of them you decide to ask.”

The voices suddenly grew louder; the Chancellor was obviously losing his temper. Both women began to edge closer as his words came clearly through the wooden door.  “Have you gone completely mad? They should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes the next Divine.”

“I do not believe they are guilty,” Cassandra stated firmly.

Liadan paused in reaching for the door handle and turned to look at Lissa. The mage held a single finger to her lips in response.

“They _failed_ , Seeker. The Breach is _still_ in the sky, and for all we know, they intended for it to remain that way.”

“I do not believe that,” the Seeker insisted.

Chancellor Roderick snorted. “That is not for you to decide. Your duty is to serve the Chantry.”

“My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded. As is yours, Chancellor.”

Liadan’s smirk was back and she cast a glance at Lissa. “Sounds like an excellent time to interrupt, hmm?” Without warning, she pulled open the door and nudged Lissa forward.

Lissa let slip a sound of surprise, but suddenly she was standing in the room, all eyes on them.

“Chain them,” Roderick demanded the moment they entered the room. Beady eyes sneered at them, and Lissa had to hold back her lips from curling in disgust. “I want them both prepared for travel the capital for trial.”

Lissa managed a whisper to the elf while the clamoring began. “He’s really quite awful.”

“It must be the uncomfortable clothes,” the elf replied, almost as quietly. “I’d be mad too if I had to wear them.”

“Disregard that order,” Cassandra answered, straightening from a table on which rested several candles and a large book. “And leave us.”

The soldiers obeyed with a salute, fists knocking against their breastplates, before they left the room and shut the doors with a sense of finality.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” the Chancellor said with rising frustration.

“The Breech is stable, but it is still a threat.” Cassandra scowled brilliantly. “I will _not_ ignore it.”

Liadan urged Lissa deeper into the room. “Still suspects, then?” she asked mildly. “Even after saving everyone’s lives, including yours?”

Lissa felt the color drain from her face. Was it because she was Dalish that she had no respect for the power of the Chantry? Or was it because she was not a Mage that she had little care? “Liadan,” she hissed. “Tread carefully. The Chantry holds more power than you may know.” As the elf gave a careless shrug, Lissa approached the table.

The Chancellor growled through a curled lip. She had known several Chantry members through her life as a Trevelyan, and as a Mage after that. But _him_ —he was a special sort of pious zealot, the kind she disliked most. “Yes, you are.” Each word was punctuated with the promise of a threat.

“ _No,_ ” Cassandra insisted. “Neither of you are.”

Leliana took the opportunity to slide closer as the Chancellor and Seeker glared at one another. “ _Someone_ was behind the explosion at the Conclave,” she said calmly. “Someone the Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others, or have allies that yet live.”

The Chancellor looked as though he had been struck. “You are saying that _I_ am a suspect?”

Gone was Leliana’s sweet expression and tone. “ _You_ and many others.”

Shocked disgust mangled his features. “But _not_ the prisoners?”

Cassandra interjected, her tone softened with memory. “I heard the voice in the Temple, Chancellor. There, I heard the Most Holy call to _them_ for help.” Her eyes rested briefly on them, the hard edges of her expression softening the slightest.

“So the fact that they alone are alive, those marks on their hands . . . all a coincidence?”

Lissa stepped forward then, crossing her arms over her chest. Though she held little faith in the organization known as the Chantry, she did believe in the Maker. And she was familiar enough with the Chantry members to know how to gain a footing in this discussion at least.

“Have you no faith, Chancellor? I can think of many Sisters that were like an aunt to me. They taught me to seek out providence, to view the hand of the Maker in all things. Did you not receive such teachings in your training?”

He did not appreciate the sentiment and returned it with a cool glare. But he did remain silent.

Cassandra heaved a great sigh. “We lost everything at the Conclave. But then, out of nowhere, _you_ came.” Her eyes were lit with a faith that seemed as stalwart as the warrior herself. Lissa was uncertain of many things, but there was no doubt that this woman spoke the truth.

“The Breach remains,” Leliana added, her sweet expression again adopted, “and your mark is still the only hope we have of closing it."

“That is not for you—for _either_ of you—to decide,” the Chancellor insisted.

Without warning, Cassandra slammed a very heavy book down upon the table. The other items atop the table bounced, but no one paid it any mind. “You know what this is, Chancellor,” she stated simply, pressing a forefinger to the top of the book.

Lissa rested curious eyes on the book. She was aware of all of the approved readings, but this was not something she had ever seen before.

“It is a writ of the Divine, granting us the authority to act.” The Seeker straightened, holding herself like a woman about to go to battle. “I declare the Inquisition reborn as of this moment.” She strode forward, sending the Chancellor backpedaling as he tried to keep distance between them. “We _will_ seal the Breach, we _will_ find those responsible, and we _will_ restore order. With or without your approval.”

“How inspirational,” Liadan whispered, though Lissa thought it only because of the look of panic on the man’s face.

The Chancellor held Cassandra’s gaze for only a moment before looking away and glancing about the room, trying to think of a rebuttal. In the end, he left, incensed, without saying another word. Despite the warrior’s earlier confidence, with the Chancellor gone, her hand rushed to rub the back of her head. Somehow, seeing this bit of humanity, of weakness, endeared the woman to Lissa, if only a little.

“This is the Divine’s directive,” Leliana said softly, gazing at the text with a tender look in her eyes. “‘Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos.’ But we aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now . . . no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice.” Cassandra turned her dark gaze toward both Lissa and Liadan.

Lissa furrowed her brows deeply, slowly closing in on the mysterious book. “The Divine wanted to reinstate the Inquisition?” A ghostly sigh slipped from her lips as her eyes widened in wonder. “I . . . I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

“Forgive this clueless elf, but what is ‘the Inquisition of old’?” Liadan cast nothing more than a glance at the decorated book cover.

“It precedes the Chantry,” Leliana replied. “People banded together to restore order in a world gone mad.”

Cassandra turned, all too ready with an answer. “The Inquisition predates even my order. The last one was eight-hundred years ago. After, they laid down their banners and became the Templars. But the Templars have lost their way.”

“The Divine must have been very desperate for an answer,” Lissa lamented. “As we all are.”

Liadan shook her head. “But aren’t you a part of the Chantry?”

Cassandra leaned forward on the table and gave a tired sigh. “Is that what you see? Yes, and no. The Seekers purpose is to seek out truth within the Templar ranks. As such, we do not have the restrictive ties as do the Templars. And as the Right Hand,” she paused, chuckling darkly, “well, currently I can only do what I know to be the last wish of Divine Justinia. Until a new Divine is elected, it is all we can do.”

“The Chantry will take time to choose a new Divine.” Leliana shook her head. “And then they will wait for her direction.”

“But we cannot wait,” Cassandra insisted. “So many Grand Clerics died at the Conclave. We are on our own. Perhaps forever.” The warrior turned toward them, a look of fiery determination in her eyes. “We must act now. With _you_ at our side.” She leveled her gaze at each woman, unflinching in her request.

“Wait, wait.” Liadan’s brow furrowed as she considered all that she had just heard. “Are you telling me you want to start another of your human holy wars?”

“We are already at war.” The Seeker held the elf’s gaze. “And you—both of you—are already involved. Its mark is upon you. Whether or not the war is holy, well, that all depends on what we discover.”

Lissa paused to take in the green brand in her palm. There was an unkind truth in her words. Even if she were to ignore it, to simply walk away, she had no life to which to return. She had no home, and there no Circles which could take her in. And no matter where she went, this strange magic would follow her, and the Breach was sure to remain.

“If you are truly trying to restore order . . . .” Lissa still hesitated in answering. She felt her weight shift between her feet, her mind still reeling with questions.

“That is the plan,” Leliana insisted.

There seemed to be no good answer, only an effective and ineffective one. But if she were to live with herself, to know that she had the power to do something and did nothing . . . that would be worse than simply existing in safety.

But Liadan held her ground. Her hands were clenched at her side and her chin was jutted defiantly at Cassandra, despite the fact that the Seeker stood a full head taller than her. “And what if I don’t want to be a part of your war?”

“You may leave if you wish,” Leliana answered, but there was poison hidden within her honeyed tone.

“You should know that while many believe that you are chosen, many others still think you are guilty.” Cassandra’s gaze was surprisingly gentle. “The Inquisition can only protect you while you are with us.”

“We can also help _you,_ ” Josephine reminded.

“The rumors will not be easy if you stay,” Cassandra admitted.

Lissa scoffed in the back of her throat. “The rumors are not easy now.”

Cassandra turned a crooked grin on her. “But you cannot pretend this has not changed both of you.” She neared them, and something about her passion set Lissa’s blood to tingling. “Help us fix this before it is too late.” The warrior outstretched a hand to her, while Leliana extended a hand toward the elf.

“You give me little choice.” Liadan’s expression was calm, but Lissa could nearly feel the anger and bitterness coming off the smaller woman. Tilting her head back further, Liadan cast a glance about the room, almost as though she were considering an escape, before she slipped her hand into Leliana’s and gave the woman’s hand a firm shake. “But you are right about something.” The elf looked at Lissa, something indecipherable in her pale eyes. “You need both of us.”

Lissa nodded, stiffening her jaw in determination. There would be no turning back. With a swift motion, she clasped the Seeker’s hand. “And, it would seem you have us.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“The man who stands at a strange threshold,_  
_Should be cautious before he cross it,_  
_Glance this way and that:_  
_Who knows beforehand what foes may sit  
_ _Awaiting him in the hall?”_

— _Havamal_

  
  


**Chapter Four** **  
****  
**

 

** **

  


Days passed and the noise in the camp grew steadily louder. There was laughter now, and purpose, and he could not help but wonder how much of it was due to the women who now walked among the troops.

Solas had watched as Leliana’s ravens took flight, carrying news of a new beginning. An Inquisition, the Seeker had called it. He knew that name. He had watched the tales of it unfold in the Fade. That these two, imbued with power beyond their caliber, would be part of another Inquisition was going to be a sight to behold.

He had heard a hammer falling like a call to prayer, the sound echoing throughout the camp, as the Commander of this new force nailed the Inquisition script upon the door. Crowds swarmed the entry, pressing close to catch just a glimpse of this new promise of hope.

From a distance, he had watched as the troops lauded their new Heralds’ names, lifted them up, and cheered when they saw the mage and an elf, standing as standards in the sun. How quickly they changed their minds when their own livelihood hung in the balance.

The bar became full. The raucous laughter drifted from the window toward the temporary shelter he had been granted. Even the songs had changed, and nightly, the weary flocked to hear tales in song of the two Heralds who had sealed the rift, and who would seal the Breach. He found a spot near enough the fire to consider them, but far enough to firmly plant himself away from the group that gathered there. It was there he paused, seeking out their faces.

How did these two women—children, were he to be honest—coax the mark from Corypheus? What had transpired there to enable them to live in the face of such raw power? How had they bested him? And, more curiously, how did they live through the trap he had planned for the magister?

The Dalish woman (he could not think of her as Elvhen) sat comfortably, but he could see that she was ready to rise to her feet at a moment’s notice. Her gaze moved constantly, as though searching for a threat, and the patient smiles she gave to the troops never met her pale eyes. Her lithe frame and unusual coloring seemed to draw as much attention from the lingering soldiers as did their belief in her as a ‘Herald of Andraste’. She moved with the intentionality of a person in character, and he had no doubts as to her true purpose. She was a spy, and perhaps he would have need of that. Provided, of course, she proved herself to have skills useful to his purpose.

Beside her, the human woman crouched near the flame, hands outstretched to absorb the warmth. It was most curious that she should have survived.

Solas let his gaze drift back to the silver-haired Dalish. Whether he liked it or not, she possessed a remnant of his People, and with that sliver of strength alone, he might attribute some logic as to her survival.

But a human? His gaze turned back to the copper-headed mage with curiosity. It was true she had some skill; he had seen it first-hand on the battlefield. Her relationship with magic was far less strained than most mages in the Circle, and she would no doubt become even stronger without the bonds placed upon her by law.

The firelight set her golden eyes ablaze and Solas could see a spark of familiarity in those eyes. For a moment, his heart went cold at the thought. But no, he quickly remembered, the woman who held those eyes was far, far away.

 _What a curious pair_. He stood a moment longer, watching as members of this new Inquisition came and went. He waited until he could see their forms flee into the warm shelter of their shack, watched as the marks flickered ever so slightly when they drew near to one another.

And he wondered.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the newly-appointed Inquisitors decides to test some boundaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For OneWingedSeraph's birthday!

_"Regard that woman  
_ _Who hesitates towards you in the light of the door  
_ _Which opens on her like a grin.  
_ _You see the border of her dress  
_ _Is torn and stained with sand,  
_ _And you see the corner of her eye  
_ _Twists like a crooked pin."_  

— _Rhapsody on a Windy Night  
_ _by T.S. Eliot_

  


**Chapter Five**

** **

  


Another day dawned bright and clear up in the Frostback mountains, and like most mornings, Liadan was already awake. She sat on her meager bed, one foot tucked beneath her as she carefully ran a whetstone over her new dagger. Thankfully, Cassandra had not acquisitioned her original weapon, a slender, curved blade of bloodstone and the hilt wrapped in august ram leather, and though the new silverite dagger with a red hart wrapped grip was not quite as nice, it would certainly do in a pinch.

The balance of this new weapon was a little off, and as she held the blade on the first two fingers of her hand, she cast a glance in Lissa’s direction. The mage was up earlier than normal this morning, her back to the rogue, her fingers working through her long red hair.

_No doubt she’s preparing for our meeting with the remaining leaders of our motley little crew._

Liadan slipped both daggers into their respective sheathes on her back, and rose to her feet, reaching for the belt on the table between their beds. She had managed to get all but one of her lockpicks back, as well as the some of the rest of her personal items from before she had been taken after the explosion at the Temple. Her hunting knife was still missing, as was a small carved box that had held herbs for cooking, but she counted the losses minimal.

“You should hurry,” she said as she set the clasp of her belt. “Cassandra will be here soon."

Lissa nodded, a grave expression on her face that should have seemed out of place on her soft features. But Liadan had seen it several times in the past few days, and she did not have to wonder what had the mage so concerned.

Glancing down at her new outfit, an eclectic mix of scavenged armor she had scrounged through (as close to her size as she could manage), including a simple, dark leather jacket and laced up boots that she would rather die than wear, but there was so much _snow_ up here and she was quickly growing tired of it. The only thing that remained of her own clothing was a simple sylvanwood pendant and a sash made of ring velvet—both gifts from her Keeper on the day she had been named First.

As Lissa finally stood and cast a faint smile in her direction, Liadan tugged at the end of the sash so that it draped over one hip, and she tapped the toe of her boot against a bedpost. “Ready?”

“I suppose there is not much hope if I am not,” the mage answered mildly.

There was a brisk knock on the door and a half second later, it was pushed open, revealing the Seeker, her features cast in shadow from the sunlight that streamed in behind her. “We are ready for you,” she stated simply and stepped aside.

They remained silent as they made their way to the Chantry; the troops gave out calls of ‘Seeker’ and ‘Heralds’ as they passed, and Liadan found that it was growing harder and harder to smile at these strangers. She clenched her fists as they entered the building and worked to calm herself.

“Does it trouble you?” the Seeker asked as the doors closed behind them.

Liadan almost sneered. “Which part?”

Cassandra glanced at the glove that covered Liadan’s hand before looking at the dormant mark on Lissa’s palm. “The mark, of course.”

“The pain has eased,” Lissa answered softly, walking at Liadan’s side and casting friendly smiles at the Chantry members they passed.

“What does it matter?” Impatiently, Liadan clenched her fingers tighter. “We did not close the Breach and we’re not even sure if we can. If it can’t do that, then what is the point of having it?”

Stopping in the middle of the hall, Cassandra met her gaze. “You have done everything we asked of you.”

“And it _still_ didn’t work.”

“What is important now is that your marks are now stable.” The Seeker looked to both women, her words unusually kind. “ _And_ the Breach. You have given us time, and Solas believes that a second attempt might succeed, provided the marks gain more power—the same level of power that was used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by.”

 _Ah, yes. Solas._ Liadan took a half step back as Lissa answered Cassandra. _I trust that mage about as much as I trust the rest of these fanatics. The way he watches us . . . I’d bet my last sovereign he hasn’t told us everything he knows._

She blinked and focused her attention back on the two humans before her, and followed them as they continued to head toward the conference room. There were people already waiting for them as they entered, and Liadan let Cassandra and Lissa enter first, hanging back in the shadow of the doorway to observe the three figures.

Leliana she knew already, and the man, she had seen him on her rounds through the camp. ‘Commander’, everyone had called him. And as for the other woman . . . Liadan glanced over her immaculate clothes, coifed hair, and ledger in her hand. A politician, she decided.

“You have already met the commander.” Cassandra took up her place at the table, leaving room for Lissa and Liadan beside her. “Cullen is the leader of the Inquisition’s forces.”

“Pleased to finally make your acquaintance,” he answered, meeting each of their gazes.

Liadan noticed Lissa was polite, if not stiff, in responding, though she seemed to set a curious gaze on the man. The rogue had to wonder if the mage's unease was only due to the air the 'commander' gave off. It did practically scream templar.

Motioning to the dark-haired, well-dressed woman, Cassandra continued the introductions. “And this is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat.”

“I have enjoyed hearing the stories,” Josephine said with an obvious Antivian accent. “And I am pleased to finally meet you at last.”

“And, of course, you know Sister Leliana,” the Seeker concluded.

Leliana gave them a small smile. “My position here requires a great deal of—”

“She is our spymaster.”

The redhead sighed. “Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra. Thank you.”

Lissa chuckled softly. “That is an impressive list of titles.”

“I mentioned that their marks would need more power to be able to close the Breach for good,” Cassandra said without further delay.

“We should approach the rebel mages for help,” Leliana supplied.

The commander scowled faintly. “And I still disagree. The templars could serve just as well.”

Liadan scoffed slightly in the back of her throat, quickly masking the sound with a cough. _A choice between mages and templars_ — _we’ll be here until the Breach tears the whole world apart._

Cassandra sighed heavily. “We need power, Commander. Enough magic poured into that mark—”

“Might just destroy us all,” he retorted. “The templars could just as easily weaken the Breach. Weaken it so that we might—”

“Pure speculation.” Leliana’s eyes gleamed in the torchlight, her stance challenging.

Lissa raised her brows, crossing her arms about her chest. “Well, there is cause . . . .”

The commander’s eyes narrowed and he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. “ _I_ was a templar.”

Lissa shifted slightly, her throat tightening over an invisible knot, but Liadan saw the faint movement all the same. _Ah. It_ is _because he was a Templar._

The Commander’s voice became grave. “I know what they are capable of,” he concluded.

“Unfortunately, neither group will even speak with us.” Josephine glanced down at the ledger in her hand. “And the Chantry has denounced the Inquisition.” She lifted her gaze long enough to point her quill in Liadan and Lissa’s direction. “And you, specifically.”

“So to assume a distinct political identity and power, they cannot even support us?” Lissa scoffed.

“That is not the entirety of it any longer. Some are calling you the Heralds of Andraste, and that frightens the Chantry.” Her brow furrowed for a moment before she lowered her gaze to the papers before her. “The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we, heretics for harboring you.”

“And this is Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt,” Cassandra said with a growing frown.

Josephine shrugged one shoulder. “It limits our options. Approaching the mages or templars for help is currently out of the question.”

Liadan cleared her throat, working to keep her rising temper in check. “Wait just a moment. Just _how_ am I supposed to be a Herald of Andraste? Last I checked, the Chantry had no room for elves in their religion.”

“People saw what you did at the temple—what both of you did—how you stopped the Breach from growing. They also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. A change came over the Seeker, her expression almost soft. “They believe that was Andraste.”

Leliana folded her arms behind her back and met the Seeker’s gaze. “Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading . . . .”

“Which we have not,” Cassandra supplied.

“The point is,” the spymaster continued, “everyone is talking about you.”

The commander’s scowl had faded and he was almost smiling when he asked: “It is quite the _title_ , isn’t it? How do you feel about that?”

“How do I feel?” Liadan ignored the pleading glance and, ‘Liadan!’ that Lissa hissed in her direction. “Consider this with me, Commander,” she answered, her tone sharp as ice. “I am an elf, and even if I did believe in Andraste and her so-called holy Maker, which I don’t, I sure as hell have no interest in being placed on a pedestal alongside a martyr who was _burned_ at the stake by her own people.”

There was an awkward silence that followed and Liadan took a small amount of pleasure in the uncomfortable look that passed over each of the human’s faces—especially the commander’s.

He lifted one hand to rub the back of his neck, lowering his gaze as he sheepishly answered, “I suppose I can understand why you would feel that way.”

“People are desperate for a sign of hope,” Leliana said, her gaze disapproving. “And for some, _you_ are that sign.”

“And to others,” Josephine continued, “a symbol of everything that has gone wrong.”

Liadan did not bother to hide her sneer this time. “They ought to be more concerned about the Breach. It is the real threat.”

Lissa chuckled, and the sound betrayed her weariness. “Yes, that would be the sensible thing, wouldn’t it?”

“They do know it is a threat,” Cullen said, his tone far more measured than it had been before. “They just don’t think we can do anything about it.”

Josephine neared the table, levelling an almost pitying look. Liadan wanted to sneer again, to shirk off her piteous glances, but in the end, she decided to save it for when her outburst could be more . . . appreciated. “The Chantry is telling everyone that you will only make things worse.”

“But there is something you can do,” Leliana said quickly as Liadan’s expression darkened. “A Chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak with the two of you. She is not far and she knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.”

Lissa looked in Liadan’s direction before asking: “But why would someone with the Chantry help a declared heretic?”

“I understand she is a reasonable sort.” The spymaster folded her arms behind her back and rocked forward on her feet. “Perhaps she does not agree with her Sisters. In either case, you will find Mother Giselle tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe.”

“Look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition’s influence while you are there,” the commander suggested, pointedly looking at Lissa.

Josephine nodded. “We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley. And the two of you are better suited to recruit them than anyone else.”

“In the meantime, let’s think of other options,” Cassandra said with finality. “We will not leave this all up to the two of you, Heralds or not.”

“If I may direct your attention here,” Cullen interjected, gesturing at a large map covering the span of the large, rough table. “This is where you’ll find Mother Giselle.” He pointed to a point on the map where scrolling letters wrote out the Hinterlands. “And this,” he gestured widely, covering the entire map, “is who we must convince to support our cause. It will not be easy.”

“But we must try,” Cassandra insisted. “For all our sakes.”

Leliana bowed near the map, placing a marking with wings—no, a raven—on the Hinterlands location. “I have already sent one of my best to the Hinterlands to begin scouting for a base in the area.” Leliana pointed to a small mark on the map. “You can meet her as soon as you arrive. She will be ready for you.”

It was an effort to nod and listen and pretend that she cared, but Liadan managed. When at last they had finished speaking, with the plan to leave that same day at noon, she turned on her heel and exited the room without a word of farewell.

“Well,” the mage began once they were out of earshot, “that was enlightening.”

Liadan merely shook her head, not trusting herself not to snap at the mage, despite her best intentions. As they crossed the packed dirt and moved down the steps, she lifted her hand as her only response that she heard the troops calling out, ‘Herald’. She felt Lissa’s eyes on her, but she easily ignored her.

“So . . . .” Lissa eventually said, her tone cautious. “I meant to ask. How is your arm? How are you holding up?”

“My arm is fine.” Liadan quickened her pace slightly as they passed another group of soldiers. “I appreciated your help.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” The rest of the way to the cabin, the mage remained respectfully silent, even if her expression turned downward just the slightest.

As they came into their own quarters, Liadan tugged at the tie in her hair and let the pale strands fall loose around her shoulders. She was scowling again, a fierce furrow between her eyebrows as she began to pace within the small space they had been afforded.

She could feel Lissa’s gaze again, curious and wary, stealing concerned glances now and then, but still, the mage said nothing.

 _This is ridiculous. All of it_ — _ridiculous. We go from prisoners, to soldiers, to saviors, and now what? Heralds of some backwards religion that I don’t even care about. No one asks if we agree_ — _Lissa is going along with it almost too easily, and I can’t help but think that all of this is a setup for when they realize we can’t close that damned hole in the sky. I should have left as soon as I woke up._

The human woman sat down on her cot, hands curled timidly in her lap and eyes fixed on her worn boots. “I’m sorry,” she admitted quietly.

Liadan stopped near the door, her back to the mage. “Why?”

“I . . . I know what it’s like, to have this sort of thing shoved on you. I just assumed . . . .” she sighed and offered a sheepish smile. “Well, I shouldn’t have. But I met several Dalish mages in my Circle. They always seemed to take it a bit harder than those of us who really didn’t know any better.”

“So _none_ of this bothers you?” Liadan asked, glancing over her shoulder.

The look on Lissa’s face was a mix of confusion and horror. “What? No! Of course it bothers me.” Her head craned back to stare at the ceiling as she met her elbows with her knees. “So much of it is . . . just wrong.” Her tone was wistful, distant. The present seemed to meet her thoughts as she turned that golden, doe-like gaze to Liadan’s face. “I only wanted you to know that I wish it were different.”

“Good.”

Her brows furrowed. “Was it ever in question?”

“I wondered if you were just pretending.” Liadan turned and met Lissa’s gaze fully, a fierce smile curving at her lips. “Glad to know that I am not the only one that isn’t thrilled about everything that has happened. I’m guessing you just have more practice at pretending—at hiding how you really feel.”

Lissa blinked. The shine was all but gone from her eyes. “Revealing your feelings can often be used against you, or worse: the people you care about.” Suddenly, they gleamed again, and her lips pulled in a crooked smile. “Besides, you said plenty enough for both of us.”

“I have not even begun to speak my mind,” Liadan stated airily.

She laughed. “Oh, that I believe.”

Moving forward, Liadan sank down onto her bed, the tension leaving her body with each breath. “As far as my feelings go, and the people I care about, the Seeker and the rest could do nothing to me that would change my mind. If I choose to continue playing this ‘holy’ charade, it will be because I want to. And only because I want to.”

A considering gaze measured her carefully. “What do you believe?”

“Insofar as what?” Liadan narrowed her eyes slightly and grinned. “Be specific.”

“You have gods, do you not?” The mage tugged at her boots, slipping her feet out of each one. “How do they play in all of this?”

Her grin growing, Liadan reached for the simple pendant around her neck, giving it a twirl before she, too, began to unlace her boots and remove them. “My Keeper would say I was too careless, that the Dread Wolf has decided to toy with me.”

Lissa frowned. “Well, that doesn’t help me at all. I had this nice bit of advice ready to reply, and then . . . well,” she chuckled. “I guess it doesn’t matter. At any rate, what they believe about us, what you believe, does it really change things so much?” She dipped her head to catch Liadan’s gaze and grinned gently. “As it seems to me, we’d be marked whether we went along with it or not. At least, this way we ‘might as well do what we can in the time we have left.’”  
“Clever words. I think I have heard them before.” Liadan stretched her now bare toes before tucking both her feet up on the bed, adopting a comfortable, cross-legged pose. She sighed. “The Dread Wolf is a trickster, they say. We are to beware him. But as for the rest . . . .” She shook her head. “I would not try to answer for them.”

The mage seemed to take it to memory. “Ah. That would explain the curses.” With a shrug, she slipped the outer robes from her tunic—they almost matched, she noticed—and swung her legs over the bed. “Well, we might as well rest while we can. I have a feeling we may be seeing less of it in the future.”

“Rest, then.” Liadan straightened and rose from the bed. “I’ll wake you when it comes time to go.”

The crisp sensation of snow on her bare feet made her walk faster, aimless, as she worked to vent what frustration was left from the earlier discussion. She was still agitated by the assumptions made by just about everyone in this area, and a tad annoyed at the ease in which Lissa just went along with everything. Did the mage _really_ not mind being called something she was not—going along with everyone else's words, even if they were not true?

 _The backlash we receive when people learn the truth will be_ —

“Hey there, Ghost.”

Liadan paused, eyebrows raised as she turned and saw Varric smiling at her. “Ghost?” she asked as she changed course and moved toward him.

“Sure. You’re quick, silent, and damn near well invisible when you want to be.” He chuckled and tilted his head. “Not one for nicknames?”

She shrugged and stopped just an arm’s length from the dwarf, considering the question before she answered, “Never really had one before, to be honest. But Ghost will do.”

“Good. Now I just have to think of one for the other lovely Herald.” He nodded as he saw her expression momentarily harden. “Not a fan of that name though, huh?”

“Hate would be too mild a term.”

He lowered himself to one knee and reached out to stoke the nearby fire. “Yes, well, that brings me to my next question. Now that Cassandra is out of earshot, and nothing we say can be used to incriminate us, how are you holding up?” Straightening, he moved a step closer and gave her a knowing smile. “I mean, you went from being one half of the most wanted pair in Thedas to becoming a figurehead for the faith of strangers.” He grinned crookedly, prodding the ash with the end of his stick. “It was kind of packed day.”

Liadan glanced away, tapping each finger of her right hand to her thumb, her nose wrinkling. “I suppose I ought to say that I am thankful just to be alive. But honestly?”

“Honestly is good.”

Something about the warmth of his tone and the openness of his gaze urged her to continue—without hiding her feelings. She scoffed and shook her head. “Honestly, I feel like it doesn’t matter what I think or what I say. The people here and the people in the Chantry, they’re all going to believe what they want to believe. And it is far too much work for me to pretend like it believe it, too.”

“I still can’t believe you survived Cassandra.” He smiled knowingly. “You were lucky that the two of you were out cold for most of her frothing rage. For days now, we’ve been staring at the Breach, watching demons and Maker knows what fall out of it. Bad for morale would be an understatement.” His expression grew slightly more serious. “I still can’t believe anyone was in there and survived.”

Liadan opened her mouth to reply, then paused to give him a considering look. “If that’s the case, then why did you stay?" she asked at last. "I heard Cassandra say you were free to go.”

Varric chuckled again. “I like to think of myself just as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy, but this? Thousands of people died on that mountain. I was almost one of them. And now there’s a hole in the sky, and not even I can just walk away and leave that to sort itself out.”

“I suppose I can understand that.” She lifted her gaze to the swirling, sparking hole in the sky, the muscle in her jaw flexing as she mulled over her thoughts. “As far as I can tell . . . I’m pretty much stuck in the same boat.”

“If this is all just the Maker winding us all up, I hope there’s a damned good punch line coming.” He held her gaze now, his smile gone. “You might want to consider running away anyway. I’ve written enough tragedies to know what will happen. Heroes are everywhere; I’ve seen that firsthand. But the hole in the sky? That’s beyond heroes. We’re going to need a miracle.”

She chuckled and gave him a wry grin. “Run? And do what?” Lifting her right hand, she gazed at her marked palm, still silent and painless beneath the leather, before she squeezed her hand into a fist and shook her head. “Even if I did decide to leave, where could I go to escape a hole in the sky?”

“Can’t have an answer for everything, I’m afraid,” he answered easily with a shrug and a wink. “Try back later for more excellent advice, Ghost.”

“More?” Liadan shook her head and started walking again, smiling to herself as she heard Varric laughing behind her.

Time passed as she prowled the camp, doing her best to remain away from large groups, and especially from the few Chantry workers that had stayed. She passed some time in talking with the man who had helped Solas keep her and Lissa alive, as well as speak with the blacksmith while he took his breakfast. He admired her dagger and she complimented his workspace, and they agreed to talk further if she found supplies that they could use to better their equipment.

Circling the back of the Chantry, she found a nearby tree with branches that stretched close enough to the roof, and as she made her way along the thatching, she sighed, grateful for the lack of noise. She watched the soldiers run through their paces, the Commander shouting out orders and corrections now and then, and she got comfortable in the sunlight, content to spend her time up here where no one could see her or pester her with questions.

But her relief was short-lived when she saw Cassandra stalking through the camp, her expression severe.

 _Wonder what has her so angry. Again,_ she thought sourly, and made her way back down the side of the building before slipping back into their hut.

It would be a long three days on the road.  

The thin cot creaked beneath her as Lissa squirmed to find a tolerable position. But try as she might, the blessed refuge of sleep would not accept her. She rolled over in a huff, staring up at the rough ceiling. What had she gotten herself into?

_Oh, Maker . . . ._

An Inquisition? They were actually going to bring back the Inquisition. And somehow, this strange magic on her palm had put her—and the elf woman—right at the center. They had already asked her to risk her life at the Breach. And now they it seemed what chance of living she had would be theirs to bargain with as they needed. In exchange, of course, for what protection they could offer.

More than once, she considered daring this nonsense on her own without the Inquisition. But if she did try to untangle herself from their clutches, and if she were to go out on her own, not only would she have no place of refuge with the Circles having been destroyed, but she would be powerless to help those who depended on the magic infecting her palm. She wanted to help. Truly, she did. But why did it seem that any help she could offer would be at the expense of her own being?

She sat up, pressing the soles of her feet against the rough, woven rug. Ferelden, she guessed, by the pattern. The air was dry and cold as it whistled through the slits in the wood panels. It reminded her of days when she would seek out such currents, drinking them between the cracks in the mortar of the Tower. But now there were no Circles, no Towers, and every mage was an apostate. Her family had long abandoned her to the Tower, and what friends she had made in the Circle were most likely dead.

Lissa slipped on her boots, intermittently pausing to brush the watery sting from her eyes. She needed to get outside, to brace against the cold wind to clear her head.

The snow crunched under her feet, and the tips of her ears stung just a bit. Despite it nearing noon, it seemed to be even colder somehow. It would have been comfortable to retreat to one the campfires, but she did not want comfort. She did not need to give her mind freedom to roam and remember.

She went along the back of the buildings, doing her best to avoid the people of Haven that thronged toward the center. Back here, the snow was higher, piled into drifts around the corners. The struggle was welcome, and she appreciated the slow building burn in her thighs and calves as she deliberately sought out the deepest areas. Her breath came more quickly, seeping out in round puffs. It reminded her of stalking through the woods, leading the other mages from Ostwick as they travelled to the Conclave, dodging Templars and suspicious townsfolk along the way.

 _No_ , she urged her mind, _I don’t want to think about that_.

Somehow, she ended up circling the lake, and found herself overlooking its hard, iced surface. Haven seemed so small from here. It was refreshing. Ever since she had awoken after the Conclave, she felt that Haven and all the accompanying problems were going to swallow her up. Lissa held up her hands, positioning the blurry view Haven between her palms.

 _Well, look at that!_ A chuckle escaped her lips. Now she was the one who could crush it between her palms. With a wistful gaze, she turned her eyes on the Breach overhead, fashioning her hands around it.

But the Breach did not fit within her hands.

The chill seeped through her clothes, and her teeth began to chatter as her jaw worked painfully against it. She turned, resigning herself to head back toward Haven when a form caught the corner of her vision. It seemed there was hut or a shack of some kind. Glad to have something else to think on, she advanced toward the building, pausing only to gather a few bouquets of fresh elfroot.

“Hello?” she questioned, rapping on the door with a tight fist. “Is anyone there?” With the force of her knock, the door pushed open. Tentatively, she bent to peer around the door. “Hello?”

The little one room shack was unoccupied. The fragrant scent of dried herbs permeated the small space, along with the familiar scent of old parchment. There was a very ugly oil painting affixed on the wall, and Lissa hoped with a grimace that it was a poor rendition of the subject. But hideous painting aside, there were so many books! They were piled up on the shelf in the corner or splayed open with notes scratched in the margins. Curious as she was, she could not resist perusing the notes.

Scrawled across the page were notes on herbs and ratios. The named hastily scratched across the recipe sounded familiar. “Taigen?” she mused aloud. “Ah! This is the name that man Adan mentioned, the healer.” She cocked her head. “Or was he an alchemist?” With a shrug, she carefully rolled the parchment and slipped it into her belt.

  
As she crept back into Haven, she stuck near the fence, skirting around the populated center of camp. She came around the tavern, making her way to the small healer’s shack, wary of meeting any eyes she met along the way.

“Hello,” a gentle voice greeted.

She started with a jolt, nearly slipping on the ice-smoothed cobblestones. “Oh! H-hello, Solas.”

His lips quirked to the side. “I had not intended to startle you. I apologize.”

Lissa shook her head as she tugged on the hem of her jerkin. “It’s no matter; I was just trying to avoid the crowd.”

Brows raised with mock haughtiness. “Ah, yes. The clamoring flock of those who impress their faith upon you and look to you with hope.” Something in his eyes shifted then. “But perhaps it is not so foreign if it is the faith which you share.”

She tried to stifle the sigh that expanded in her chest, and it came out as a sharp stream of air from her nostrils instead. “Yes, well . . . I rather hope the fate of the world is not dependent upon my faith.” She noticed his staff in his hands, and felt the last tendrils of magic slipping away into the air. He must have been cleansing his staff when she happed upon his secluded spot. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting your spell.”

He grinned. “Not at all. I was simply removing a bit of residue, that is all. I would not be a mage if I could not handle such a spell with a bit of interruption.”

She shrugged. “Well, not much of a good one, anyway.”

He laughed, then. It was not until she heard it that realized he rarely did it. “Yes!”

“Good luck with cleansing that staff. I better get this to Adan before Cassandra starts dragging us off again for Maker knows how long.” He nodded in parting, and drew his attention back to his staff. The faint hum of magic buzzed through the air as his hand passed over it. She made to turn back toward the shack, but paused with a tap of her chin.

“You may want to draw more attention to where your left hand rests. It feels a bit . . . heavy and smells of fire magic. I think you have a bit of a blockage there.”

Wordlessly, he drew his hand over the spot she mentioned. The staff flickered blue, and the scent of smoke and a brief rush of heat were swept away on the cool air. He tilted his head and with a rather neutral expression replied, “Thank you.”

Lissa gave him one last smile and bowed her head in farewell. But despite his thanks, she could feel his gaze on the back of her head, long after she had left.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liadan and Lissa finally make it to the Hinterlands!

_“And travellers, now, within that valley,_  
_Through the red-litten windows see_  
_Vast forms, that move fantastically_  
_To discordant melody,_  
_While, like a ghastly rapid river,_  
_Through the pale door_  
_A hideous throng rush out forever_  
_And laugh—but smile no more.”_

 _—‘The Haunted Palace’_  
_by Edgar Allen Poe_

  
**Chapter Six:**

  
** **

 

  
Their small group received a missive just as they entered the valley leading into the Hinterlands, and Liadan listened as Lissa bent over the paper and read it aloud. “We avoided the fighting as best we could—it’s every bit as bad as we feared. The apostates are mad, attacking everything that moves, and it appears that the templars here aren’t following anyone’s orders any longer. We located Mother Giselle and are trying to protect her, but she refuses to leave the refugees until we’ve ensured their safety. That will be hard to do without troops to push the apostates and templars from the area.

“Commander Cullen asked me to make inquiries of Master Dennet, a retired horsemaster of Redcliffe, who lives in the area. We tried to contact him about obtaining better horses for the Inquisition, but we’ve been unable to get through the fighting.”

Lissa handed the missive back to the runner who had brought it and turned her gaze to Liadan. “Signed by a Lead Scout Harding. Obviously Leliana’s scout.”

“I would take that wager,” the elf replied. “To be honest, I am quite interested in this Master Dennet; mounts would be an excellent start. I have found animals to be far easier to work with than mages and templars.” She shot a smirk at Lissa. “Present company excluded, of course.”

“Of course.” Lissa grinned, with an eyeroll for good measure.

Eventually, they came to a stop in a small plateau that granted them a fair view of the surrounding area while providing them decent shelter from prying eyes. Several soldiers called out their greetings, and a redheaded dwarf dressed in Inquisition armor came to greet them. “Heralds of Andraste. I’ve heard the stories—everyone has. We know what you did at the Breach.” She gave them a shallow bow and a warm smile. “It’s an honor to meet you, my ladies. Inquisition Scout Harding, at your service.” Rising, she motioned to the camp behind her. “I—well, all of us here—will do whatever we can to help.”

Varric chuckled. “Harding, huh? Ever been to Kirkwall’s Hightown?”

As Liadan and Lissa shared a look, Scout Harding shook her head. “Can’t say that I have. Why?”

“Well, you’d be Harding in—ah, never mind.”

Cassandra let out a noise of disgust, but Liadan held back a chuckle. Lissa gave the dwarf woman a smile and said, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Please, don’t mind his jokes.”

“They won’t get better with time,” Liadan warned.

Scout Harding hid a smile. “Noted. We should get down the business. The situation is . . . pretty dire. We came to negotiate with Redcliffe’s old horsemaster for some mounts as I mentioned in my missive. I actually grew up here, and people always said that Dennet’s herds were the strongest and the fastest this side of the Frostbacks. But with the mage and templar fighting getting worse, we can’t even get to him. Maker only knows if he’s still alive.” She motioned for them to follow her as she made her way across the camp. “Mother Giselle was found at the crossroads, helping refugees and the wounded. Our latests reports say that the fighting has made it there, too. Corporal Vale and his men are doing what they can to help protect the people, but they won’t be able to hold out for very long.” As one of the troops called for her attention, Harding gave another bow and prepared to continue her duties. “You best get going; no time to lose.”

“Guess we should just get down to it, hmm?” Liadan cast another glance around the camp, her gaze focusing on the nearby campfire over which hung a large black pot full of something that smelled delicious. “Perhaps, after a quick meal?”

The sun was just reaching its zenith when they made their way down from the plateau and headed north. It was warmer here than at Haven, and Liadan was grateful that she had thought to bring wraps for her feet, rather than wear the boots she hated so. She already had the beginnings of a blister from the blasted things.

But the ground was softer here, cool, and covered with thick patches of grass. Fresh herbs grew in abundance, and the pine trees were tall and cast adequate shade for the group as they made their way toward the crossroads. They came upon several abandoned huts, some with roofs covered with grass, and as Cassandra explained to Liadan why there would be turf on the roof, the elf nodded, intrigued by the idea.

Birds chirped and flitted overhead as they continued down a sloping path. Both Liadan and Lissa made sure to stop and gather some of the herbs they saw as they crossed the valley—who knew when some extra elfroot would come in handy?—and as they tucked the fresh leaves into the respective pouches on their waist, Solas exposited a few of the uses of elfroot which they could take advantage.

As they came up on the other side of the valley, a familiar ache grew in Liadan’s palm, and it only took a glance at Lissa to see that the mage felt the same. Only a few yards ahead and behind the crumbled remains of some ruins, the first of the rifts was revealed, and the demons that prowled the area gave shrieks as they caught sight of the troops.

Energy crackled from the nearby rift as one of the demons lurched toward Liadan. She back-stepped, keeping an eye on the various demons and her teammates, before tossing down a smoke pellet and circling the demon as it screamed in frustration. Closing the distance between her and the rest of her comrades, she bided her time and thrust her new dagger into the head of a demon that had pinned Cassandra against a half-fallen wall.

The Seeker murmured her thanks, and as Liadan retrieved her dagger, she felt a growing itch in her palm. She turned in time to see Lissa further agitate the rift, the demons stumbling as the energy that had drawn them to this plane was negated. The fight was over a few seconds later, the last demon falling to the ground in a writhing lump, thanks to a well-aimed crossbow bolt fired after Solas had cast a searing ball of flame.

Both mages checked to make sure that no one had been injured, then Liadan and Lissa lifted their marked palms and closed the rift, ignoring the viridian-hued belch of magical energy that sputtered all over them.

“That is going to get old,” Liadan murmured as she wiped demon blood and ichor off the front of her coat.

“It is rather messy,” Lissa agreed, trying to brush bits of gore from her braid. “And the smell leaves much to be desired.” She hummed in thought, considering the where the rift had been but a moment later with a tap of her chin. “I mean, supposing that it is magic, why can I not close it from more of a distance? From a practical standpoint, it makes a great deal more sense to at least try.”

“Whatever you do, do not attempt something that will put you in unnecessary danger,” Cassandra insisted as she ran a rag down the edge of her soiled blade before sheathing her weapon and leading them onward.

“I have heard that your books are very popular, Master Tethras,” Solas said as they made their way toward a grassy knoll.

The dwarf adjusted his grip on Bianca before turning his gaze toward the elven mage. “I do well enough.”

Solas smiled. “I am glad of it.”

“Really?” Varric chuckled with mild disbelief. “No sarcasm? No superior attitude?”

Lissa chuckled, earning the briefest of disapproving looks from the other mage.

“We live in a dark and angry time, child of the stone. So much of what people believe has come crashing down,” Solas observed. “If you bring them a little peace with the worlds you make between the pages, you have done more than most.”

“That is a nice thought,” Lissa mused airily as she used her staff to steady her steps down an incline. “Your profits have philanthropic potential, Varric.”

Liadan glanced over her shoulder as they conversed. “Solas is right. Tales and stories can do a lot for flagging confidence and dark times.”

“Mother Giselle cannot be far,” Cassandra said, gaining everyone's attention. She looked around, her eyes narrowing as she heard noises from up ahead.

Cocking her head as she heard the same sounds, Liadan nodded at the Seeker’s gaze. She scaled a small, nearby rock face and glanced over the top, taking in the sight before her. “Inquisition forces,” she called down to the others. “They are trying to protect the refugees and it looks like they could use a hand.”

Cassandra quickly began to circle the rocks and both mages were only a few steps behind. Varric glanced up at Liadan, his eyes narrowed against the sunlight. “Got a good vantage point for me, Ghost?”

“Twenty feet to your left; you should be able to make your way up here.” The rogue began to climb down the other side. “Plenty of good shots.” As she landed on the path, she saw magic flare as the runes that Lissa and Solas had placed beneath and around the templars who were trying to route the Inquisition troops. Above, she could hear the twang of Bianca, and one of the templars fell without a sound.

Working to join Cassandra on the field, but realizing that there were wounded Inquisition members already, Liadan stopped and helped them to cover. She got the last of the wounded behind a nearby rock ledge and moved to rejoin her party when she heard the Seeker cry out a warning.

“Stop!” Lissa said as more templars came to join their brethren and forced an attack. “We aren’t apostates!”

“I do not think they care,” Solas called over the verbal challenges the templars spat in their direction.

Liadan paused long enough to tell the Inquisition troops to stay put, then, she slipped into the nearby shadows and worked to stay out of sight, gradually moving forward.

Ahead, Cassandra and Lissa kept the templars from passing, while Solas continued to lay down more runes just a few steps ahead of their feet, forcing the templars to continuously retreat and giving the Inquisition forces time to get to safety. Varric scrambled atop the rock wall in order to find a new vantage spot, and as Cassandra lifted her shield to protect Lissa from one templar who had managed to get too close, Liadan slid behind the remaining templars. She slipped one of her knives into the small gap between the plates that protected the area beneath his arm, and as his sword fell from his now useless hand, the rogue pressed forward, pushing one templar into one of Solas’ glyphs, and kicking the last in the back of his leg, forcing him forward and right into a sweep of Cassandra’s sword that removed his head, helmet and all.

They all stared at one another as they worked to catch their breath, and Cassandra was the first to speak. “Prepare yourself. More might be coming.”

The Inquisition forces who were strong enough to continue fighting, let out a loud cheer and moved to join with their new Heralds, fighting bravely and quickly routing the next wave of templars that had come to aid their own. Solas and Lissa worked from the back to keep the templars from overwhelming the troops, and now and then, a crossbow bolt caught their foes unaware. Cassandra led the Inquisition forces, her rallying cries bolstering their strength, and just a step or two behind her, Liadan poked and prodded with her wicked little knives.

“That is the last of them,” the Seeker declared a few minutes later, wiping sweat and blood from her cheek. “And this must be the crossroads.”

There was little more than two simple roads meeting in a shallow vale, a few huts here and there. From within the buildings and the underbrush, the refugees began to pour out into the crossroads, relief on their tired, dirty faces.

Lissa and Liadan looked at one another before trailing after the Seeker, Varric taking up the rear; the Inquisition forces that had protected the refugees, bowed and began to gave their report. As she listened, Liadan glanced out over the area, taking note of their forces and the number of those that had fled this far into the wilderness. They were not prepared, she noted, and most appeared to have fled their homes with only the clothes they were wearing and what supplies they could hold in their arms.

Her gaze shifted as she watched Solas move toward a small wagon, and she nudged Lissa with her elbow, tilting her chin in Solas’ direction. “Perhaps you can aid him?” she said softly. “I’m sure there are wounded.”

“A good idea.” Lissa’s gaze brightened and she adjusted her grip on her staff before walking toward the apostate and kneeling down near the refugees.

Cassandra turned in time to see that she was short one Herald, and after scowling for a moment, she looked to Liadan and said, “Mother Giselle is just up ahead. She is waiting for you.”

Liadan could see the ostentatious robes of the sister from where she stood, and with a deep breath— _I shouldn’t have sent Lissa away_ —she made her way toward Mother Giselle.

She drew close enough in time to hear the woman murmur, “There are mages here who can heal you; lie still.”

The man was trembling, his skin damp with sweat and his gaze darting about nervously at the mention of mages. Liadan bided her time and listened as the Sister offered the man comfort and encouragement, and when a mage did at last come to heal him, he acquiesced without further argument.

“Mother Giselle,” Liadan said quietly, watching as the soldier was treated.

Rising to her feet, the Sister turned. “I am. And you must be one of the pair they are calling the Heralds of Andraste.”

With only the smallest of sighs, Liadan placed one hand on her hip and turned her gaze to Mother Giselle. “Is that why you asked us to come here? Because of our titles?” Her pale gaze held the Sister’s unflinchingly, and she did not bother to hide the doubt in her tone. “Your Chantry has already—”

“I know.” Giselle interrupted gently, unperturbed by Liadan’s frustration.

“Then why are we here?”

Giselle did not respond, but began to walk down the grassy hill before her, motioning for Liadan to do the same. The eyes of the troops and refugees alike, watched as they walked together.

As they came beneath the shade of some trees, Giselle spoke. “I have heard the Chantry’s denouncement of both you and the mage Trevelyan. I am also familiar with those behind the action. I will not lie to you: some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their own chances of becoming the new divine.” She paused and chuckled as she saw Liadan’s expression sour further. “I see you do not care for our politics. But, that aside, some are simply terrified. So many good people, senselessly taken from us.”

“But aren’t you supposed to agree with the Chantry?” Liadan looked out over the hastily built defenses. “Can’t they just denounce you, too?”

“With no Divine, we are each left to our own conscience,” she answered softly. “And mine tells me to go, convince the remaining clerics that you are not some demon to be feared. They have heard only frightful tales of you. Give them something else to believe.”

Liadan’s brow furrowed, her fingertips sliding over the hilt of her dagger. “You do not think that might make things worse? I am a dalish elf, and she is a mage with no circle; they will see and believe what they want.”

“ _Could_ it be worse?” Giselle asked, her dark eyes bright with understanding.

“Probably,” Liadan retorted. “And very easily.”

A brief smile crossed the Sister’s lips and she folded her hands together. “Then, let me put it this way: you do not need to convince them all. You simply need to make some of them doubt. Their power is in their unified voice. Take that from them . . . .”

“That is quite a bit of faith you have in us.” Liadan faced the Sister directly, her expression settling somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “You think that if we just show up, show them these marks on our hands, that what? They will decide their beloved Chantry is just full of braying asses?”

Giselle’s smile did not fade and Liadan worked to keep her expression from giving away her mounting anger. “I cannot say whether or not you have been touched by fate or sent to help up us, but I do have hope—and _that_ is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that could help or destroy us.” She gazed for a long moment at Liadan, her dark eyes shifting over the impassive mask that Liadan easily wore. Another moment passed before she took a breath and smiled again, much to the elf’s annoyance. “I will go to Haven. I can provide the names of those who might listen to Sister Leliana. It is not much, but I will do whatever I can. I do hope you can say the same.”

Liadan held her tongue, silently watching as the Sister bowed and walked away, speaking to the refugees and troops alike, trying to comfort their souls with the religion that entangled her. With a soft snort, Liadan turned and stalked back toward the crossroads, schooling her features into a neutral expression despite the frustration that roiled just beneath the surface.

 _All of them are alike. Just play the part; do what we want; pretend to be something you’re not._ She spat a curse, the familiar words tasting like venom on her tongue and she savored it. _Not a single person has bothered to ask either of us what we want. I can see the Breach just as clearly as they can, but could they at least pretend not to have our complete and total obedience bent to their whims?_

There was a smile on her face as she met with the rest of her party, and after recounting the discussion she had just finished with Mother Giselle, she asked for their input on what to do with the rest of their afternoon.

"I know there must be more refugees on their way here,” she added. “Perhaps they will need our protection.”

“And there are the refugees already here.” Lissa glanced at the wounded that she and Solas had just helped. Liadan followed her gaze and felt some small relief when she saw that the refugees seemed to be more at ease. “They are not prepared for the coming winter. Maybe we could see what supplies they need?”

Cassandra nodded at both suggestions, her arms folded over her chest and her dark gaze scouring the crossroads. “Very well. I had the opportunity to speak with some of the soldiers and refugees here, and I know that the people need some herbs. Also, after speaking with one of our own requisition officers, I know that this area is rich in iron, and that the forces here could use them for tools and weapons.”

Lissa and Liadan shared a glance, and at the mage’s nod, Liadan allowed her smile to grow and she motioned to the path that ran perpendicular from the path they had taken to get here. “Shall we, then?”

 

They entered a narrow passage between two mountains, the sunlight dimmed by the rough outcroppings overhead, the air cooler within the deep shade afforded between the rocks. Solas and Liadan were the first to notice the figures that moved within the darkness, and as another shadow darted across the path ahead, he lifted one hand and motioned to the bright-eyed beasts that watched them with more than just passing curiosity.

“No normal wolves would remain like this, watching us,” Liadan said quietly as more wolves appeared. “This is not natural.”

“The Breach may have driven them mad.” Solas spared a glance over his shoulder as he began to draw upon his mana. “Or perhaps a demon took command of the pack.”

A sharp little gasped slipped from Lissa’s mouth. “Oh no,” she muttered.

Cassandra took the lead as they continued through the pass, her sword and shield held at the ready, Varric just behind her, Bianca armed. Lissa followed, electricity humming around the head of her staff, her gaze darting from side to side as the passage narrowed and the wolves prowled. Liadan and Solas took the rear, the rogue holding a dagger in each hand, her pale gaze tracking each wolf that drew too near as Solas held his staff at chest-height and prepare to cast a glyph to ward off a rear attack.

The passage narrowed even further and moss dangled down from the rocks, passing over their heads and tickling their faces. A strand of ghoul’s beard hung from the crevice and filled the air with an astringent odor, and somewhere in the distance, they could hear the screech of a hawk.

“Gotta admit, I’m getting kind of creeped out here,” Varric mumbled, shifting his weight as they moved single file between two large boulders.

Lissa appeared to be increasingly worried. “Something is very wrong here.”

A tug twisted Liadan’s gut and a slow wave of nausea washed over her. Her palm began to tingle, sparking and snapping more with each step. She looked ahead, and from the look on the mage’s face, Lissa was feeling it as well. As they slid between the rocks, they stepped into a ravine. A slow moving river trickled too silently. There was no birdsong, no croak of frogs, or even the rutting or grunting of nugs. Liadan paused, her muscles poised for action. “Please tell me this isn’t—”

There came a sudden rumbling that coursed more through their bones than along the ground, a sickening twist of reality warped with darkness. The rumble solidified into a dark laugh, and the press of eyes, red and gleaming, slowly crept out of the shadows around the them. Black wolves, engorged with the Fade, stared them down, maws dripping and snapping.

“Oh shit,” Varric muttered.

“Yes, yes. Something is very wrong,” a voice spoke, but there was no mouth to hold such a voice.

 _Where is it?_ Liadan swiveled her head with the trained eye of a hunter, but nothing gave the voice away. The tension from the group seemed to take a more physical form, as if their hesitation and doubt were clouding the air, choking her. _How is that possible?_

“You want to know? Would that soothe your fears?” The dark laugh rumbled again, and with it came a fresh wave of nausea.  
  
“Reveal yourself, demon!” Cassandra ordered, her dark eyes bright with the promise of a fight.

Lissa took a step back toward the center of the group, her face oddly ashen. “You should not encourage it. Destroy it outright, but do not play its games.”

“Yep, demons. Definitely demons,” Varric added, his hand visibly tensed on his crossbow.

A wolf, impossibly large, stalked forward. Matted black fur was piled on its frame, and its claws were dark and wet with what looked like tacky blood. As it appeared, a strange sense of unease settled over Liadan like a cloud, and she wondered if the rest could feel it, too. The rest of the pack stepped back almost imperceptibly, but Liadan knew what to look for. This was the alpha.

“You!” Liadan pressed her back to Solas’ shoulder as she adjusted her grip on her daggers. “Are you the one making these wolves like this?”

“How sad that you would not recognize a wolf among a pack of dogs even when it is staring you in the face.”

Lissa gripped her stomach as though she had been struck, clutching her staff until her knuckles peaked with white. “They are in pain, the wolves . . . .”

“I see a demon in the midst of a pack who owes him nothing,” Liadan hissed despite the warning glance Solas shot in her direction. “You are so desperate you will prey on anything.”

Solas switched the grip on his staff, his eyes narrowing as he examined the pack. “I could attempt to expel him. But if he has ingrained himself in the entire pack, I may not be able to do it alone.”

Cassandra brandished her sword. “Then we will kill them where they stand.”

“No!” Lissa urged, rounding on the Seeker. Liadan echoed her a moment later.

“They’re innocent,” the elf added. “They should not be killed for being possessed.” The wolves snarled in unison, closing the circle in on the group.

“We may not have a choice,” Varric managed through gritted teeth.

Liadan snarled at the thought of these innocent creatures being punished for doing nothing wrong. _Why must every insist on discipline without knowing the full truth. They would have killed us had we not proven useful._  “We have barely even tried. If nothing else, we leave and think of something before we decide to destroy an innocent pack.”

The laugh bubbled up thickly like air in a tar swamp. “Maybe I should let you run! Let your fear fester and spoil within you.”

With a sudden lurch, Liadan’s stomach began to heave, and she worked to catch her breath as the demon wolf stared right at her—right into her soul. Sweat beaded on her brow and her skin felt cold, her fingers trembling around the hilts of her dagger. It smelled like rotten meat and the sickly-sweet tang of blood; irrationally, she glanced at Cassandra’s back, wondering just how long the Seeker would allow her to pretend to be an innocent in all this. Surely she knew the truth—all of them had to know the truth. She swallowed and glared weakly at the demon, baring her teeth as she worked to quell the rising fear in her gut.

The wolf looked her in the eyes and lunged.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation with the wolves ends, but trouble seems to be brewing among the companions.

  _"'Hope' is the thing with feathers—_  
_That perches in the soul—_  
_And sings the tune without the words—_  
_And never stops—at all—_

 _And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—_  
_And sore must be the storm—_  
_That could abash the little Bird_  
_That kept so many warm—_

 _I've heard it in the chillest land—_  
_And on the strangest Sea—_  
_Yet, never, in Extremity,_  
_It asked a crumb—of Me."_  
  
__—_ Emily Dickinson_

Lissa gripped her staff, calling to readiness the magic in her veins until it reached her fingertips with an eager buzz. But she made no move, keeping a careful gaze on the wolves lest the wrong step send them attacking.

Suddenly, the demon lunged. Their tiny group scattered, but in that one moment they had their opening.

“Run!”

With a flick of her staff, chilling ice magic leapt forward, immobilizing the wolves on the right. Solas must have seen the opening as well, for a matching stream of ice jetted forth, freezing the wolves haunches to the ground.

In a mad, disorganized dash, they darted past the wolves. Shadows swept across as the wolves jumped from their perch on the rocks, rushing after them.

“Hurry!” Cassandra urged needlessly. With the low rumble and the occasional lick of hot breath along her heels, Lissa had no need for encouragement.

“If they behave somewhat like normal wolves,” Solas managed between breaths, “they should not stray too far from their territory.”

Her pounding heart dared to hope. “How big is their territory?”

He paused, taking too long to meet her eyes. Liadan was the one to answer: “The average is about forty miles.”

“Four—” Varric choked on the word, stumbling a bit with Bianca in hand. “We don’t _have_ forty miles, and these legs weren’t made for sprinting!”

“And these are not normal wolves!” Cassandra insisted, her pace slowing for a moment. “We should stand our ground and kill them.”

Liadan did not even pause. “No,” she answered stubbornly. “It’s not their fault a demon is controlling them.” She cast a glance over her shoulder before nimbly darting between some boulders. “Besides, we can’t be too deep into their territory if they just approached us. If we can make it to the end of the gorge, we should be fine.”

“We may not have a choice,” Cassandra replied through gritted teeth.

Lissa huffed, pausing with a skid, the pebbles scratching beneath the sole of her boot. With a hard thrust, she brought down the butt of her staff into the ground. The hair on the back of her neck raised, and before she could recognize the sensation, the air split with a crack, a tremendous bolt arcing from the sky. It was the largest she had ever summoned. It struck the side of the closest rock face and the ground shook as a shower of rocks began to loosen from their hold. She gripped onto her staff, her mana dangerously dropping. A hand on her back helped to steady her, a slow pulse of warmth spread from the touch. When her bleary gaze came back into focus, she looked up to find Solas’ looking at the tumbling rocks with a narrowed gaze. She felt . . . something, like the air was folding over on itself, and suddenly a strange green boulder came hurling at the side of the sheer rock face to their left and pushed the avalanche over the edge.

Through the shower of rubble, she caught sight of the wolf pack lurching to a panicked stop.

“We must move!” Solas urged, tugging her away from the wall. No sooner had she stumbled nearer to her companions, than the the crash of the avalanche rolled over the ground.

As the cloud of dust settled, Lissa managed a burning cough before calling out, “Is everyone okay?”

Just a few feet away, Liadan studied the pile of rocks, her brows furrowed as she cocked her head, her expression tense as she seemed to listen. Angry, otherworldly howls bellowed beyond the wall, sending a shiver down Lissa’s spine. “Fine,” the elf answered and straightened, a faint look of relief crossing her features. She checked her gear and turned her gaze toward the group as they collected themselves. “I guess we should warn the others not to come this way.”

Lissa nodded, starting to follow after when her head surged with a heavy, dull ache. She winced, gripping her staff for balance as the pain slowly grew behind her eyes, throbbing in her temples.

Cassandra scowled. “Your mana is low. I can feel it in your blood. Here,” her voice oddly . . . soft? No, that could not right. But Lissa did not have time to consider it further as Cassandra thrust a familiar crystal phial into her palm. “We cannot have you passing out in the river,” she added matter-of-factly.

She clutched her head for but a moment and nodded. “Thank you.” The cork came out with a pop, and the familiar tang of lyrium made her skin tingle. She put it to her lips, letting the cold liquid wash over her tongue and coat her mouth until it settled in her belly with a familiar warmth.

By chance, her eyes met her fellow mage. _Is he . . . scowling at me?_ He turned away before she could fully make up her mind, but the look in his eyes had the distinct feeling of disappointment. She felt her breath catch. She had thought it was a rather clever thing to cause an avalanche. And it was not her fault she had been taught magic by the Circle. She wanted to be strong and capable. She always gave her best, so what gave him the nerve to disapprove? And why was it so deflating?

Again, Lissa felt the gaze of Liadan rest on her with an almost curious expression before she pulled herself up straight and slid her daggers back into their sheathes. “I suppose we will have to find another way to get the materials we need now.”

Cassandra nodded. “Yes, but first we should warn Master Dennet who lives nearby. He deserves to know his land is inhabited by possessed wolves.” There was bitterness to her voice that was hard to miss.

“That would be fair,” Lissa interjected, watching Liadan’s spine straighten just so. “And we can just take a closer eye on what ore we find on the way. I have a few herbs in my pack that the villagers could use, and the area is abundant in spindleweed,” she offered with a forcibly cheery smile. “It will be fine.”

 

They arrived at Master Dennett’s camp with little trouble, aside from skirting around a rather dangerous rip in the Fade. With Lissa’s mana in that state, and harried as they already were, they were in no shape to face it. The horsemaster had been kind enough to let them camp on his property, but that seemed to be the extent of his goodwill. If they were to have horses, they would have to earn them, prove that the Inquisition would take care of the best.

Lissa sat down on a large rock next to the trickling creek to nurse a blister on her foot. She sighed as she dipped it beneath the water, relishing the calming efforts of the cold against the fiery bubble. Finding a thin stone, she pressed it against the skin. Her breath tightened with anticipation. With a hiss, she slaked away the swollen blister and let the water clean out the small wound. It hurt, but now she could apply a healing poultice. But for now, she simply enjoyed being able to sit for a moment. The rock was warmed by the sun, the water was cool on her feet, and the bustle of soldiers carried on behind her as they worked to set up tents and a mobile command station.

A stone’s throw away, Liadan was watching the soldiers with a disinterested eye, her gaze frequently shifting to the barns and the few horses milling about in the various paddocks. Her fingers tapped an incessant rhythm against one thigh as she watched the graceful animals, and after a few more minutes, she turned and made her way toward Lissa.

“Should I wrap it for you?” she asked as she squatted down beside the rock, casting a critical glance to the blister.

Lissa chuckled. “No, it’s just a blister. I’m just being a ninny. Boots haven’t set right just yet.” She thumped against the sole of the boot before dropping it back to the ground. “I miss my old ones sometimes, even if they weren’t really sturdy.”

“I dislike them completely.” The elven rogue cast a disgusted look at the boots on her own feet and scowled. “So uncomfortable. No wonder you shems walk around looking so cross all the time. Your feet are so horribly pinched.”

Lissa laughed, a real laugh that came from her gut. It felt good to really laugh, and she realized it had been some time since she had. “Well, I can’t imagine walking around without them. I’ve never understood how you do it. Mud? Ice? Rocks?” She shook her head with a grimace. “I think I’ll pass.”

“Oh, it’s much more simple than that,” Liadan replied and brushed an imaginary speck of dirt off her sleeve. “Calluses. You start young and build them up, of course.”

“Well, I’m of tender feet, apparently,” she looked back to her former blister with a scowl of her own. It was annoying and painful, but it had been just a blister. In fact, it bothered her more that she had even noticed it. How could she be expected to seal the sky when something like a blister bothered her? She huffed shortly through her nose. _Or when I get fatigued after a powerful spell . . . ._

She pushed the thought from her mind, craning her neck to watch the sky as it began to turn to a smooth lavender. “If we want horses, we’re going to have to do something about those wolves,” she thought aloud.

“You’re a mage,” Liadan stated. “Is there any way we can free them from that demon?” Her pale gaze slid away under Lissa’s surprised glance. “There is no reason they should be killed because some damn demon decided to brainwash them. They can’t help it. Would we not feel the same if they were people?"

Lissa took a deep breath in and out before responding. “If there is a way to help them, we’ll have to find where they stay first. I imagine we’d have to defeat the demon possessing them, or controlling them. That should clear it up, but they are still wolves afterall. Even if we march into their den to free them, they may not appreciate the gesture afterwards.” She shrugged, reaching down to pick up a smooth pebble before tossing it into the creek. “But my experience with demons is . . . limited, and probably biased.” _Although for good reason_ , she reminded herself. _They are demons, after all, for a reason_ . “If you want a more experienced opinion, I’d ask our apostate companion. He has _interesting_ opinions on spirits and may have a better idea on how to accomplish it.”

“I suppose.” Liadan lifted one hand to rub at the crooked bridge of her nose, her gaze shifting toward where they had left the possessed wolves behind. She muttered quietly to herself before she straightened and turned her gaze back to Lissa. “Do you want to ask, or shall I?”

Lissa smiled. “Go ahead. I think you have the strongest points in favor of the wolves, and I’m still being a baby about this blister.” She chuckled. It was true; Liadan felt the most strongly about saving the wolves, and she did still have to apply the poultice. But truthfully, Lissa wanted to give the two elves a chance to work through a problem together, and hopefully come out on the same side. Sharp barbs of disagreement seemed to be too often flung between them. A glance here, an upturned nose there. Nothing major or for cause of worry, just . . . noticeable.

With a slightly frustrated look and a heavy sigh, the rogue nodded slowly and turned her gaze toward the camp. “Well, wish me luck,” she said quietly with one last glance in Lissa’s direction.

  


  
** **

 

Liadan was still grumbling to herself softly as she walked through the camp even as it was being formed. _Possessed wolves, what next? What could a demon even want with a pack of wolves, other than to harry the refugees and the horsemaster_ — _it seems so trivial compared to the Breach._ She paused beside a campfire, nodding distractedly to the soldiers who called her ‘Herald’. _But that fear . . . ._ A shiver shook her spine and she clenched her fists. _The pack doesn’t deserve this, no matter what the others say. Even if we have to kill them, at least they will be free of that demon._

Looking up, she belatedly realized that she had continued walking as she was lost in thought, and just up ahead, at the outer edge of the camp, Solas stepped out of his tent. She made her way toward him, her steps purposeful and her shoulders back. Even if she did not always agree with him, she knew that Solas was the most likely to agree with her _and_ give her an answer.

He saw her coming and he inclined his head in greeting as she came to a stop a few feet away. “Ah, a chosen of Andraste. A blessed hero sent to save us all.” There was amusement in his voice as he said it, and for the first time, Liadan did not bristle at the familiar words. When he motioned to the nearby campfire, she followed him and sat opposite of him across the fire.

“You know I did not ask for this,” she answered, and bent to cast a twig into the flames. “Even if everyone seems to have decided that we need to be the ones to seal the Breach.”

His lips curved upward. “Spoken nobly, indeed.” He chuckled as she shot him a glare. “You think I would mock you? Are you truly so cynical?”

“I am,” she retorted. “But I know you aren’t mocking me, which is what makes me curious. Why would an elven apostate care about a title like Herald or anything to do with Andraste?”

He tilted his head just so, a forced neutral expression on his face that she had come to dislike. “I have seen many things in the Fade on my journeys. I am not unfamiliar with great wars.” He rested his arms on his knees as he gazed into the flames. “A night of sleep in ruins or battlefields reveals quite the history. The spirits clash as they reenact the bloody past, of wars both famous and forgotten.” Again, he smiled, and he slowly turned his gaze toward her. “Every war has its heroes. Each side has its champions. Perhaps I am just curious at what type of heroes the two of you will be.”

Liadan considered his words, her eyes narrowing in thought before she asked: “What exactly do you mean by ruins and battlefields? Do you mean to tell me that you can watch history unfold before your eyes? In the Fade?”

Solas looked truly pleased at the question. “Any place that is strong enough to withstand the tests of time has history: from dusty ruins to crumbling towers. Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits and they press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds. When I dream in such places, I can find places no other mortal has seen in ages.”

She stared at him. “I had no idea you could do that. I mean, I realize there is a lot I do not know about the Fade—I’m no mage, after all—but I did not realize that you could actually see and experience the past!” Liadan grew more excited as she spoke, leaning forward on the log as she followed that train of thought. “But is it not dangerous, leaving yourself open in your sleep like that?”

“I do set wards,” he answered, amused appreciation in his gaze. “The errant giant spider is contented with the food I set out for them.”

Chuckling at that, Liadan wove her fingers together and rested her chin atop them, her eyes narrowing as she considered him. “I admit I know little about magic and the Fade, but I had no idea anyone could travel so deep inside it. It sounds extraordinary.”

He quickly masked his surprise. “Thank you. It is not a common field of study and for . . . obvious reasons.” He paused, the hint of a crooked smile tugging on his lips. “There is nothing in the world I would not trade to experience the aged past, as it truly was.” He turned his gaze away, his excitement fading and his expression falling as though he had shown something he had not meant to show. “I am . . . sorry. I do not often so freely share my opinions here. Being an apostate mage amidst so great a force of Chantry soldiers has me more . . . guarded than I intended. Cassandra has been accommodating, but I’m sure you understand my caution.”

“I do.” Liadan cast a glance at the camp, noting that all the tents had been erected and many had begun preparing the evening meal. A short distance away, Varric was talking with a group of soldiers and gesturing wildly, basking in their laughter. Cassandra sat near Lissa, watching as the mage bandaged her foot, her dark gaze narrowed as she looked out over the camp. The Seeker’s gaze met Liadan’s and quickly, the elf looked away, feeling for a moment, the same fear that she had felt in the presence of the demon.

“Now then,” Solas said softly when she did not continue. “Was there something specific you wished to ask?”

Tucking away the unwarranted emotion, Liadan lifted her gaze to Solas, her lips pursed as she worked to form her questions. “The wolves,” she answered at last. “I want to save them—as does Lissa. Is there anything we can do to help them?”

His eyes narrowed, an almost imperceptible twitch of thought that her trained eyes barely managed to catch. “That is not a bad wish, although in reality, it may turn out to be just that.” His eyes remained fixed on the fire, the light dancing in his eyes. “However, if we were in a position to attempt such a rescue, we would first have to locate the demon’s base. Perhaps there is a rift nearby, giving it such power?” He shook his head. “I do not enjoy seeing the innocent harmed, but to save the world, would you risk your life on a handful of wolves?”

“My life—our lives—are more important than this pack,” she admitted. “We have no idea what will happen if either Lissa or I dies. Will the survivor still be able to close the rifts and the Breach?” With a heavy sigh, she straightened, leaving her interlaced hands in her lap. “But that does not mean I do not wish to try. In either case, the demon has to be killed. Who is to say it will stop with just one pack of wolves?”

His eyes held hers for a too-long moment, that stupid, forcibly blank expression unyielding on his features. Finally, it cracked with the slightest hint of a smile. “I agree. But however much support you have from your fellows, is it not up to the Seeker?” His eyes followed across the way to where Lissa and Cassandra knelt near the stream. “In the end, I believe it is her support you will have to negotiate.” The smile turned just so, adopting a crookedness that she did not care for. “And for that, I truly wish you the best.”

Liadan’s lips curled and she snorted before following his gaze. “As though just killing them would be simple enough. _That_ I doubt.” Even as she spoke, Lissa and the Seeker began making their way toward them, the mage favoring her blistered foot only slightly.

“So,” Lissa asked brightly as she dropped to one of the logs. “Have you figured out the wolf predicament?”

Cassandra grumbled, shifting in her seat, but said nothing. Yet.

“Not really. Aside from possibly finding a rift nearby.” Liadan paused, her brow furrowing as she recalled the last few fights they had won against the demons. “If we find the rift and use our marks, that demon should get weaker, just like the other demons did, right?”

Lissa nodded. “I claim no expertise on the fade or rifts, but I can’t imagine a reason why not. Solas?”

“In theory, yes.”

“So we are leaving the safety of this area, of the Inquisition’s acquisition of horses, to theory?” Cassandra finally chimed in. “We already know that ridding the area of the beasts is assured if we simply destroy the pack. Why leave it to chance?”

Liadan may have been ready for the Seeker’s rebuttal, but that did not prevent it from sending hot waves of frustration through her stomach to mingle with the fear that still festered there. Her jaw worked for a moment, but Lissa spoke first.

“With all due respect, Lady Seeker, how is fighting off a pack of wolves more dangerous than any other thing we do? What I witnessed was a pack of animals influenced by a demon, a single demon. He can’t truly be based on brawn, or it would have no need of the pack. This demon is probably more cunning and controlling than anything.”

“And the horsemaster’s wife said nothing about this pack being a continual threat, only that this happened recently.” Liadan worked to keep the sarcasm from her tone. “Or will part of our duties include killing all wolves and other predators we come across?”

Cassandra huffed. “I never said that we had to seek out all wolves, simply those that plague this area.”

“Yes, but consider with me a moment what will happen once the wolves are gone,” Lissa started in a forcibly mellow tone. “There will be a vacancy of power and territory that will naturally be filled by a stronger predator. Instead of the local farmers and townsfolk having to fend off wolves, they may have bears. And the innate possibility of being stalked by a wolf keeps smaller animals wary and agile, which makes them better food. At least . . . .” she stopped, a sudden blush creeping across her face. “—that is what I have read. I claim no personal experience. I-I’m no hunter.” She shook her head, waving away the embarrassment. “By not acting with caution, we may in fact put the valley in a more dangerous position by eliminating them.”

Liadan sent Lissa a grateful glance, a brief smile crossing her lips before she turned to Cassandra again. “Will you at least let us try, if nothing else? I am not willing to risk our lives, but I think an attempt should at least be made before we kill any of them. They have no choice in the matter and ought not to be punished for the demon’s actions.” She allowed her voice to soften and she ducked her head in deference. "Innocence deserves to be protected, whether it is humans or animals.

“We—” the Seeker paused and met Liadan’s gaze fully, her dark eyes bright from the fire, the flickering light casting her features and hair in shadow. Then, with a sigh, the line of her shoulders relaxed and she nodded once. “If you truly feel that we should make this attempt, then I shall support and protect you in this effort. But should anyone in our party come in danger of these creatures, I will show them no mercy.”

Lissa reached out to put a hand on the Seeker’s shoulder. “And we would expect no less.”

With their current problem solved, Liadan was quick to change the topic, her pale eyes brightening as she turned to Solas with obvious curiosity. “In the places you said you've visited, did you ever see our people? Did you have the chance to experience parts of our history?”

He visibly stiffened, eyes narrowing on the fire. “Yes,” he quipped. “And when I tried to share my knowledge with the Dalish, they laughed me out of their camps. The Dalish cling too tightly to their folk tales and stories, and have no care for truth when it is presented to them.”

“What?” Liadan pulled back, brow crumpling as she looked at him. “T-that’s rather presumptuous, don’t you think? You certainly could not have met all the different clans—yes, _some_ can be rather pretentious, and even downright stubborn sometimes—but you ought not go around making general statements like that about all of us.” She glanced around the camp, her expression slowly losing its youthful curiosity. “I would expect that from a shem, but not from you.”

His brows raised slightly. “Why? Because we share the same ears?” A shadow passed over his features, as if an old memory clouded his mind. “Aside from that, I share nothing with the Dalish.”

“Nothing?” Hands tensing, Liadan tossed her head, a false laugh echoing in the gathering darkness. “I suppose, then, that I am not surprised the Dalish did not care for your ‘wisdom’. You are judgmental and haughty, and if you spoke like this to the rest, then it is no wonder they mocked you. I am more surprised they did not—”

“Liadan . . . .” Lissa interjected, placing a hesitant palm onto Liadan’s knee.

Stiffening until she was nearly as rigid as the elf that sat across the flames, Liadan snorted and shook her head. “You are right, then. We really do share nothing. At the least, I am willing to listen and question before coming to a decision. Perhaps I was too hasty with my judgment, _Apostate?_ ”

If she expected an offended glare, she received none. The idiot mage simply continued staring into the damned fire instead of giving her a second glance. “Perhaps,” came the cool reply at last. He rose, dusted off his breeches, and walked away from the small gathering of tents, making for the dense woods behind them.

“Solas . . . .” Lissa huffed, shaking her head. The redhead turned toward the elf, her brows tilted in concern. “Is there anything I can do?”

Clicking her tongue, the elf glared daggers at the retreating mage’s back, fingering the pendant that hung around her neck. “Set his bald head on fire?” she muttered. “Or maybe those hideous pants.”

The mage frowned, but laughed just the same.

“Well,” Varric cleared his throat, his face devoid of concern. But there was certainly amusement dancing in his warm gaze. “You have impeccable taste in company, Seeker.”

Cassandra grunted, waving him off.

“I tend to see a hand of necessity drawing us together,” Lissa added, her tone far too optimistic. It was annoying.

Cassandra did not find the sentiment useful either, apparently. If nothing else, Liadan appreciated her frankness. “We will need more than necessity to close the Breach.”

It took longer than the rogue cared for, but eventually the troops began to settle in for the night, and Varric soon joined them, mumbling something about an interesting turn of events.

Liadan continued staring into the campfire, long after even Cassandra had excused herself to their tents. The rogue occasionally tossed a branch or two into the fire, sending a flurry of sparks dancing upward, and as the night lengthened, she gradually rested with her back against the log, slipping a long piece of grass between her lips as she gazed up at the stars in the dark backdrop of the sky. She was doing her best to ignore the human mage's glances and the soft clearing of her throat, but Lissa did not seem to take the hint.

“So . . . .” Lissa started hesitantly, apparently feeling the need to fill the silence. “It’s been a rather interesting day.” She tilted her head and adopted an uncomfortably warm expression. “How are you feeling?”

“Honestly?”

Lissa’s expression shifted with a hint of unease, but she insisted with a serious nod. “Of course.”

Casting a sidelong expression at the mage, Liadan answered simply, “I want to go into the woods and slap him right across the face. He is rather haughty, don’t you think? Tell me I’m not the only one he has put off with his regaling of how smart and clever he is.”

Lissa tried to hide her shock at the elf’s frankness, but it was very clear to the rogue all the same. Her lips slowly curved into a sympathetic grin. “He does act rather self-important at times, doesn’t he?” she answered with a giggle. Her eyes seemed to glow in the firelight as she met the gaze of the elf over the embers, the two sharing a secret like young girls. But something in the mage’s eyes slowly darkened as she looked away, a question on her face which she obviously could no longer hold. “I wonder why he is so abrasive about the elves?”

“I wonder much the same thing.” Liadan shifted the grass between her lips and dropped her gaze to her bare toes. “I thought perhaps he came from an alienage and disliked me because I was Dalish, but the way he talks . . . he was good and kind until I mention our shared heritage.”

Lissa sighed, reaching down to pick up her staff. Her hands hovered over the shaft, and the rogue shifted slightly, her eyes honing in on the act. “I can’t pretend to know, but I just feel like there is a hurt bleeding out somewhere.” Her eyes lifted, brows titled with sympathy. “I am sorry it is in your direction.”

“It is something I am used to.” Shifting her weight, Liadan folded her arms behind her head. “And I am not so impressed with his knowledge that I will just let him besmirch my people in such broad and general terms. One day, my temper will get the best of me.”

Again, the mage’s eyes flared briefly. “I have seen you use great amounts of restraint when calculating your next target.” She cleared her throat, deliberately setting her attention back on the fire with a forced neutral expression. “I would not sell yourself short.”

The elf laughed and turned her bright gaze toward the mage. “I would never.”

Lissa turned, sparing a few blinks before seeking clarification. “You wouldn’t underestimate your skills, or you wouldn’t let your temper get the best of you?”

"Ah, well one would make me a braggart and one would inevitably make me a liar." Liadan held the mage's gaze, still grinning. After a moment she waved her hand as though knocking aside an annoying insect. "But agitating apostates aside, I suppose I don't have much to complain about. Good fights, good meals, and decent enough company. I have dealt with worse."

This seemed to soothe the mage even if it was just a bit. She grinned and nodded before turning her attention back to the fire.

Liadan reached for another branch, setting it atop the fire and prodding the coals beneath, stirring the fire until it burned bright once more. "Perhaps I did say something to upset him," she mused aloud. "Though I cannot think of anything I have said that he would have taken offense to."

Lissa kept her eyes to the fire and answered gently, “You could always ask him.”

"I suppose." But there was no real earnestness in her voice.

The mage shifted, stoking the fire absently with a stick. Her voice was hesitant, cautious. “You may wish to consider discovering it sooner rather than later. It might be a wiser course of action not to irritate those that decide our fate.”

"I doubt that the Seeker will allow Solas to decide our fate, and I know better than to make her angry."

Lissa braved a scowl. “Have you not felt his barriers on you when you go into battle? You seem fairly versed on the fighting; you would think you’d recognize an ally when you see one.”

"I do." Liadan plucked the grass from her mouth and tossed it into the flames. "But do you think him so petty he would allow me to come to harm?" Her gaze flickered in the darkness, silently gauging the mage and her rising ire. _Why does she care?_ "It is a mistake he would only make once."

Lissa grumbled in frustration. “You test things that should not be tested. Frankly, I find it rather petty that you continue to defend your actions, actions I—” she cut herself off with a huff. “Why does it matter? You’ve made it obvious you’ll do what you want no matter the consequences.” She clutched her staff, using it to rise from her seat on the log. “I will see you in the morning.”

A slow smile spread across the elf' lips and she nodded at Lissa's terse form of good night.  When she was alone, she reached for the pendant on her neck and hummed softly before dropping her hand to her ribs, her fingers tracing the covered markings on her skin. "Boundaries are meant to be tested," she said to herself. _And I am not some weak-willed mage that will blindly obey orders because I fear repercussions._ Her smile hardened as she looked toward the tents where her comrades slept. _I may have said yes, but I owe none of you my favor._ _Or my loyalty_.


	8. Chapter Eight

_“There is a wolf in me  
_ _Fangs pointed for tearing gashes  
_ _A red tongue for red meat  
_ _And the hot lapping of blood_ —

_I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me  
_ _And the wilderness will not let it go.”_

 — _Wilderness  
_ _Carl Sandburg_

  
Lissa brushed the back of her hand against her brow to wipe away the sweat that had gathered there. The hard hike across the Hinterlands was a welcome distraction from last night. Her eyes rested too often on the two elves in their company, wondering if the disagreement would blow over or fester. But with Cassandra’s urging pace, the burning in her legs left her with precious little time to consider it.

“This is not what I expected to be doing when we arrived here,” she mused, watching in awe as Cassandra hefted the entire felled ram and hoisted it over her shoulders. She sent a look of shock to Varric who just shrugged, shaking his head.

“That’s the Seeker for you.”

“There are several miles yet until we reach the crossroads, ” Solas added.

Lissa nodded emphatically. “Yes, Seeker. If we could portion it out, it would be much easier to carry.”

“Easy?” She scowled. “This will not feed those refugees. We will need several more rams yet. You will each get your own chance to carry one.”

Lissa’s eyes widened, and whispered to the dwarf, “I certainly hope we find some rather close to the city.”

 

Her back ached, and her burden kept slipping from her shoulders. Try as she might, she was having the hardest time making her way with the ram across her back. She muttered under her breath, but continued just the same.

“Here, let me help,” Liadan offered as Lissa tried, rather clumsily, to adjust the ram across her back. When she looked at Lissa, there was none of the sharpness from the night before, and her tone was warm and welcoming once more.

“Thank you.” Gratefully, Lissa let the ram slip from her shoulders. Liadan removed the ram from her back and examined the clumsy arrangement of ropes with a scowl. “When we traveled, I set the traps and wards and handled injuries,” Lissa offered in defense of her lack of knot-tying skills. “None of us were particularly skilled at hunting. We could manage a clean kill, but had little idea what to do after that.”

“You were a Circle mage," Varric mused as Liadan went to work, skillfully tying the rams hooves together, her gaze on her task. “When would you have travelled?”

“When the Circles were abolished, we had no place to stay. Most villagers were terrified of us so we kept to ourselves in makeshift camps. We did what we could to stay alive without drawing attention to ourselves. We stuck to fish as meat, mostly, and rabbits and foxes. We found their carcasses easier to bury so as not to attract bears.” She watched as Liadan carefully rigged the ropes together into a pair of straps, taking mental notes of the knots she used. “We learned to kill with electrical magic, or ice magic. Fire burned any of the furs we might have used and the smell attracted predators. Electricity and ice caused no bleeding. They were much easier to carry when we suddenly had to move.”

“Those are clever observations,” Solas noted as he passed with his similarly trussed-up burden. Lissa spared a glance between the two, but if either one was still perturbed about their campfire disagreement, neither of them showed it. She watched with a little envy as Solas and even the dwarf had less trouble carrying their burdens. Was she really the weakest one here?

“Well, it was either learn or be killed. It was a powerful incentive.”

“There. Try that.” Liadan pointed to the tied ram. “Slip your arms through there, and you can hoist it on your back, like Cassandra.”

Lissa did as instructed, holstering the ram on her back and across her shoulders. “Thank you,” she offered. The rogue returned it with a simple nod and gathered her own burden, heading off after the Seeker. Solas took a step away, and her voice leapt out without her permission.

“Solas—”

He turned halfway, raising his brows as he often did. “Yes?”

Her chest was tight with a held breath as she fought with the words on the tip of her tongue. A false grin thinned her lips. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

He held her gaze for a moment and then nodded, turning back with his burden toward the crossroads and the waiting refugees.

A sigh burst over her lips as she chided herself for her lack of courage. She wanted to help but how? Her eyes followed the pale haired woman as she effortlessly stalked behind the Seeker.

_I would only make things worse._

 

Lissa’s breaths were coming faster now, and her pulse began to surge with every incline they made on their way. Her staff had become more a walking stick than a weapon, and her legs burned with each step.

“Only a little farther now,” Cassandra called out from the front, charging ahead with impressive determination. “We have an outpost ahead who can make the delivery.”

“Thank the Maker,” Lissa muttered, calling on a bit of magic to lighten the load.

At the crossroads, a post of soldiers awaited them, guarding the roads against rebel mages or rogue templars. Their arrival seemed to cause quite a commotion among the nearby villagers.

“Food? For us?”

“Thank the Maker!”

A familiar form neared, garbed in furs and coated in the scent of woodsmoke. “You’ve brought back meat for us?” The hunter bent to examine the kills, and a smile grew on his face. “With all of this, I can feed quite a few bellies. And the furs will help keep people warm.” He stood, extending a hand toward Cassandra. “If this is what the Inquisition is about, you have my support.”

Cassandra nodded and directed the soldiers to assist the hunter with the rams. Lissa watched, her mind circling with questions. Is this what the Inquisition was really about? Truly about helping people? Or was it a political move to gain the support of the people when the Chantry had abandoned them?

From the corner of her eye, she could see Liadan remaining behind, her pale head bent toward the hunter as they spoke softly. The elf slipped a small wrapped packet into the hunter's hand, but Cassandra and Varric stepped closer to Lissa and she saw nothing more than a brief smile cross the hunter's weathered face. _Curious_. . . .

“We cannot stay,” Cassandra insisted. “Gather what you need and take stock of your weapons. We have several miles yet before we reach Master Dennett’s land again.”

Lissa was glad to have a moment to stretch and ease her back without the weight of the ram on her shoulders. She took a bit of respite to lean against the fence and took stock of her staff. Dirt clung to the base, and the wood was getting a bit worn. She sighed. It would need replacing soon.

One of the soldiers handed her a fresh bladder of water, and she nodded in the thanks. She hardly noticed the stares of the villagers and soldiers as they pointed and gawked in her direction. She wasn’t sure if it was that she was getting used to it or that she was simply too spent to care. With a groan, she pushed off the fence, and set to walk around the outskirts of the town to ease the burning in her legs.

She avoided the roads, keeping to the tall grass along the edges. As her elevation increased, she paused to look down on the small town nestled within the Hinterlands. Refugees and villagers stood about to gawk at their soldiers. To think that the pointless fighting between the mages and templars had driven so many out of their homes. A sigh escaped her. Whatever the motives of the Inquisition leaders, she was glad to have had some small part in getting their lives back to normal. Lissa knew more than most how the simple pleasures of warmth and food affected one’s spirit.

Cassandra was talking to one of the soldiers, her face stern and commanding as always. Varric and Liadan seemed to have struck up a conversation near one of the fences. Well, at least there was one member of their party with whom Liadan did not seem to have a grievance. Though, considering the curious nature of the dwarf joining the Inquisition, she was not sure their camaraderie was a comfort.

 _Now, you know that’s not fair_ , she chided herself. Technically both she and Liadan had been prisoners. Or were they still? It was hard to tell. And even the elf mage was an apostate. And now so was she. Her brows furrowed. _Where has he gone?_

Her eyes scanned the town, looking up and down the roads, among the clusters of people gossipping, but he was not there. _I wonder where_ . . . _?_ Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a familiar staff suddenly flickering to life back to the edge of town. Clustered together were a group of refugees from the look of them, all haggard and coated in dirt. He seemed to be treating some minor injuries on one of the children. Then, he reached from his pack and handed them something. She gathered it was food as soon as the young ones started devouring it. Lissa grinned. For all the times he acted superior, he seemed to be a kind soul at heart. She had seen it firsthand when they arrived at the crossroads. So what then gave him cause to be so sharp? _What has hurt you?_

After having chewed through the leather-like dried meat slices and washing it down with half the water from her canteen, she carefully made her way back down toward the crossroads, picking out the Seeker from among the soldiers with a forced squint.

“I’m just saying, maybe it might be a good idea if we split up,” Varric was suggesting, adding in a long shrug.

Cassandra was shaking her head, and her arms were crossed tersely across her breastplate. “I am not certain I feel confident in this plan.”

Lissa stepped closer, raising a hand in permission. “Pardon me, but what plan? Is this about the wolves?”

“Yes.” Arms folded loosely around her middle, Liadan turned to include Lissa in the conversation before bringing her gaze back to the Seeker. She seemed nonplussed by the warrior’s growing scowl. “Varric and I were talking, and we thought we should at least consider the idea of splitting up—one of us finding the rifts and closing it with our mark.”

Lissa blinked once, twice to suppress her own scowl. When she spoke, it was forcibly measured despite the sudden pounding of her heart in her chest. “I feel obliged to mention that we’ve never tried that before. How do we know that will even work? Considering the situation, it seems riskier than necessary.”

Smiling with far more patience than she had shown before, Liadan shifted her pale gaze to the mage. “I spoke too quickly. We know that we can _disrupt_ the rifts, yes. We have all seen that more than once. If that in turn weakens the demon, I would stand to think that the others could remove the threat. Do you not think so?”

She allowed one full intake of air while she considered it. Raising her hand toward her chin, she allowed herself the space to exhale slowly. “That does have potential. It also has added risks, but . . . .” She raised her eyes to meet the pale gaze of the elf. “It might be the most effective for saving them, as well. I think it’s worth a try, Cassandra.”

The warrior shifted, the gears of her mind reflected in the repetitive paces she made in the dirt. “It puts all of us at a greater risk apart than together. If we are to attempt this, I wish to have everyone agreed. Where is Solas?”

“I am here, Seeker.” His voice was suddenly behind her, making Lissa jolt slightly. Liadan noticed, her scarred lip pulling to the side.

“Did you overhear the proposed plan?” the warrior asked.

“I did. And I believe the risks to be worth the possibility for success.”

The Seeker’s jaw worked. “Then, it is settled. After we finish aiding the refugees here, we will rest before heading back toward the Dennet farm.”

Varric inclined his head toward her and flashed a roguish grin. “And have some quality time with the wolves.”

  
The ravine was just as dark, dank, and silent as it was before, only this time, there were only three to their party. Lissa took a careful breath, taking stock of the mana in her blood. She closed her eyes, and connected with the quivering spark there and let it touch that place beyond herself. She felt it latch with a tug. It tingled in her skin, running down her limbs and pooling in her fingertips until it was almost painful. But it always answered easily, just as she asked. Magic was . . . profound. It always came when she called; it always answered the commanded whispers of her mind. But exactly how it would answer? That was part of the game. A private mystery she guessed at with each spell. Magic was consistent in its inconsistency, but in that she found more reliability than in any other facet of her life. The only constant had been her magic. In some small way, she felt indebted to it. Throughout every joy and horror in her short life, magic had been there with her. The least she could do was listen to it, learn it.

She waited, feeding the spark in her hands and letting it crawl through her staff. Her footsteps were too loud, but then, they _were_ here to get attention.

“Ready?” Cassandra barked, sword and shield at the ready.

Lissa nodded, drawing in her bottom lip between her teeth absently.

With a chilling shout, the Seeker charged deeper into the ravine. Lissa darted after her, instinctively coating her comrades in the protective film of a barrier. Their raucous entrance gained the attention they were seeking.

From the crevices along the rock face and stalking out of shadows came the familiar glow of unearthly gazes, the chilling snap and growl of far too many toothy maws. Suddenly, a sickening voice echoed from the dark, the multiplied tone of it tugging on her innards until she felt woozy.

“So you’ve returned?” It oozed a dark chuckle. “Then allow me to usher you to a well-earned end.”

 

 

 

Coming up the side of the rock wall, Solas and Liadan crept upward, hand over hand, silent as shadows. Both could hear the words of their comrades, and feel the disheartening rumble of the demon’s presence. They shared a quick glance and began to move faster, fingers scrambling to find hand holds until they were on more level ground and began their search for the rift.

Solas made a swift gesture, his grey gaze only meeting hers for a moment, and with a quick nod, they were moving, their comrades and the hidden rift to their left.

As that sickening feeling began to swirl within her gut once more, Liadan darted forward, brushing by Solas even as the mage hissed a quiet warning. But she did not slow, and as an all-too-familiar burn began in the palm of her right hand, she knew they were getting close. Her bare feet slid soundlessly over the loose scree atop the ravine, and as she heard Cassandra’s battle cry, she pushed herself to go faster. The sound of Solas’ footfalls behind her gave her some sense of comfort, despite her residual anger and the sickening fear that roiled in her stomach, and as the flickering glow of the rift came into view, she allowed herself a small smile.

Lifting her marked palm, she called to the burgeoning tear, though every inch of her recoiled at the touch of this magic, crying out a silent warning at the wrongness of it all. The rift surged and whined as she called to it, forced it to bend to her will, and as she focused on doing this on her own, she could hear the scratching of nails on rock to her right.

“Solas,” she muttered, her gaze unwavering on the rift as it bucked and heaved. “We are not alone up here.”

“I am well aware.” He stepped closer, nearly touching her as he came to defend her unprotected side. Despite the wolf’s growls and snarls, Solas seemed unfazed, and as he swung his staff at the possessed beast, the rift finally cracked and dimmed.

Liadan let out a pleased sound, clenching her fist closed as the mark continued to pulse in dull, constant throbs, and she turned in time to see the wolves below falter in attacking their party. She cast a glance over her shoulder and saw Solas backing away from the wolf as it shook its head in confusion, and with a nod of her head, she began making her way down to meet their party, intent on ridding the pack of this demon as soon as possible. 

Lissa raised her staff, poised for a counter when suddenly, the possessed pack leader slid to a stop, its head bowing down as it trembled as if in pain. At the opening, Lissa closed her eyes, bringing her marked hand to her temple as she cast a blast of mental magic at the beast.  
  
It reeled backward, tumbling back onto its grotesquely clawed haunches. Cassandra rushed in without hesitation and quickly gave it a thorough bashing with her shield. Around the warrior, a cluster of wolves descended. The hum of Bianca’s bowstring snapped, taking out two of them near to closing on her.  
  
“Get back!” Lissa yelled in desperation, hoping that there was some way they could understand. _We’re trying to help!_  
  
With a whoosh, a blazing wall of fire roared to life, separating the pack if just for a moment. Sweat trickled down her brow and she swallowed past a dry mouth. _Solas, Liadan, hurry!_  
  
A stone’s throw away, the two elves made their way down the ravine, scrambling over rocks and sending dust and pebbles tumbling down on their comrades now that sneaking was not their priority. Solas cast his own spell, and ice crept up over the paws of the alpha, as well as a few of the wolves that surrounded him. Beside him, Liadan caught a fistful of his homespun tunic, tugging him upright as he nearly lost his footing.  
  
Landing on the ground amidst a rising cloud of dust, the pair quickly moved forward, darting between the snapping maws of the trapped wolves and heading for the alpha.  
  
The two elves were now close to the alpha, and the Seeker. Lissa squinted, watching their forms rush toward each other. With the right timing, she could . . . . She flicked her staff, casting a barrier toward them. The glowing rim of blue washed over their forms, and she let out a sound of pleased accomplishment.  
  
For a moment, the air around Lissa felt electrified, charged. Ahead, a bright point of viridian light drew her attention. Solas lifted his staff and placed his free hand over his temple. She was expecting a mental blow, but the surge of magic that pulsed through the air felt like nothing she had experienced. The shape of the wolf changed somehow as it seemed to wrestle with its own form. She wanted to see. Needed to know what this strange magic was. She stepped forward, unaware of how her wall of fire had died down to nothing but a line of soot.  
  
“Watch out!”  
  
Bianca snapped in the distance, and a searing pain washed over the back of her right leg. She cried out, stumbling forward as she clutched at her boot, the worn leather now torn and soaked with blood. With a hiss, she turned, barricading the nearby wolves with a fresh wall of flames. To her right, the corpse of the offending wolf lay still, one arrow sticking out neatly from its eye. Forcing back a wince, she sent a nod of appreciation toward the dwarf before watching the scene before her.  
Liadan and Cassandra circled Solas, warding off any wolf that got too close, weapons and teeth bared just as viciously as the wolves that prowled and struggled to be free of their icy prison. Both women glanced at the wounded mage before continuing their defense, waiting for Solas to win his battle.  
  
The elven mage stood still, solely focused on the writhing thing before him. Lissa cursed her injury and her stupidity that allowed it. If she could just be closer! The air seemed to fold for a moment, kneading over itself in a dizzy tumble. But it was not the air, no. It was the Fade, and between this manipulation and the pull of the rift, it was almost nauseating.  
  
There was a sudden pop, and the pressure was gone, replaced with the sickening twist of a demonic presence. It had been forced from the wolf, and now it stood bent, injured and confused, leering at them with hate-filled slashes of red for eyes.  
In a wearied tone, Solas insisted, “Now!”  
  
Liadan met the Seeker’s gaze for a moment, then stepped forward first. But she did not head for the demon. Both her daggers were thrown at its injured form, and though only one pierced its flesh, she continued moving forward, ducking low between the tattered hems of the demon’s robes, and hefting the limp weight of the alpha in her arms. As she ducked away, Cassandra attacked, a fierce cry filling the stillness as her sword cut across the demon’s midriff.  
  
One, two twangs split the air, and two arrows sunk deep into its lanky chest. Forcing back the sting of the gash in her leg, Lissa drew her mana together and called down a bright arc of lightning. It connected with a crack, and Cassandra dove in with another slash. It split the creature in two, and it fractured into smoldering bits of green before fading away.  
  
Lissa spared a look at Liadan, and the elf returned her gaze from where she hunched protectively over the alpha. With a silent consensus, they lifted their palms toward the rift, sealing it with a crack that echoed within the ravine.  
  
Almost immediately, the wolves paused in their attack, and instead hunched cautiously, slowly backing from the group, their attention solely focused on their injured alpha.  
  
Liadan murmured something gently to the wolf, elvish she guessed, before slowly taking her remaining hand from off the alpha’s fur. “You are all right now.” She rose, cautious and oh-so-slow, and took a step back as the wolf began to stir."  
  
Solas came beside her, his off hand resting momentarily at her elbow before they both backed away, giving the pack their space.  
  
“I think we have done our part,” Cassandra stated, her sword still noticeably unsheathed.  
  
“We should go,” Solas added, a thoughtful expression cinching his brows. “They have their own battles to face now.”  
  
Lissa wiped her hands in the sparse grass, attempting to rid them of the blood. With a sharp breath from her nose, she stood, gripping her staff more like a walking stick than a treasured weapon. “I’m sure the Dennet’s would be glad to know.” Her footing was uneven, but nothing her naturally clumsy nature could not cover. I will not be the weakest here. Not again. She smiled past a wince. “We should head back to tell them.”  
  
Varric neared, holstering the curious crossbow on his back. “You sure, Freckles?” he asked, turning a suspicious glare toward her leg. “We can wait if—”  
  
“I’m fine,” she barked, quick to add a smile. “Have you forgotten that I’m a mage, after all?”  
  
His eyes narrowed, but thankfully he made no protest.  
  
Liadan neared, her face bright with a smile even through the splatter of demon and dirt smudges.  
  
“We did it!” Lissa offered more brightly than she intended. Liadan’s gaze traced Lissa’s features for a moment before lowering, but she said nothing, and after sheathing both her daggers at her back, she followed Cassandra out of the ravine, silent now despite the blood falling from her fingertips.  
  
“Well done,” Solas nodded, allowing his eyes to brush each of them for just a moment. “I am certain the wolves, as well as the Dennet’s, will appreciate your efforts.”  
  
“Then let us inform them,” Cassandra said over her shoulder. “It will make the rest of our journey easier if we can secure horses.”  
  
Lissa could not hold back a crooked grin, even through the pain. It was just so like the warrior, always thinking on the next objective. Now if only her bullheaded determination could manage a slower pace back toward the farm.

Their trek back was slower, but Lissa was determined not to stop. Besides, she reasoned, camp was only another quarter mile away by now, and she had managed to stall enough with the guise of picking spindleweed for their supplies. Each step sent a fresh shock of pain through her leg as the motion tugged at the open wound and as the tacky blood stuck the leather to her flesh, only to be torn away with the next step.  
  
Finally, just as they neared the waterfall, she could see the Inquisition flags snapping in the wind just above the rocky rise.  
  
“I’m in need of refilling my canteen, and it wouldn’t hurt to do with a bath,” Lissa offered with a grin, doing her best to remain inconspicuous. “I’ll be up for dinner. Save a spot near the fire for me, would you Cassandra?”  
  
The Seeker paused, staring at her with brows firm. Was that a look of confusion? Her reply came slowly, but deliberate all the same. “I can do that.” Thankfully, she turned toward camp, climbing up the hill with the rest following after.  
Lissa watched carefully, waiting for the distinct blurs of their figures to crest over the hill. Once confident they were out of sight, she dropped to the bank, glad to have the weight off of her foot.  
  
With a strained hiss through her teeth, she reached for the boot, trying to tug it free, but the pain was too much, like fire had been poured into the wound, and she had not enough mana to administer a base numbing spell. Her jaw quivered as she set her boot in the water, at least letting the clean, cold wash over it.  
  
“The water isn’t cold enough to numb it, if that’s what you are hoping for.”  
  
A curse would have come to mind if she could think of anything besides her stupid injury, she was sure. “No, but I am hoping it unsticks the leather from my skin.” Lissa looked up through a wince, not even bothering now to hide her pain. What was the point? “How did you know?” Her voice sounded too disappointed as it slipped over her lips.  
  
The sunlight turned Liadan’s hair a burning gold for a moment until she knelt beside Lissa and gave her an almost kind look. “When I did that long pass around us to make sure we were not being followed, I found blood smears. It did not take too long to figure it out after that. Your steps are lighter than the Seeker’s and Varric’s.”  
  
Lissa was curious, and the conversation helped to take her mind away from the pain. “Lighter? What does that mean?”  
  
Slipping closer, the elf dipped her own bare feet into the water, sighing against the cold. “The way you walk, your steps, they do not leave as deep an impression.” She reached down slowly, waiting for Lissa to pull away if she wished, and pressed her slender fingers to the skin just above Lissa’s boot. “That, and your feet are much slimmer than a dwarf’s.”  
  
A nervous, pained laughed sawed from her lips. “Well, I guess that is something to count as a blessing.” She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, anticipating the pain to come. Liadan’s sage eyes held hers for a moment, waiting. Lissa nodded, and all at once the boot slipped off with the sickening squelch of congealed blood. She hissed through her teeth, and panted in and out, in and out, as the fire spread like sharp talons across her leg. The dizzying pain slowly ebbed, and the edges of the world became bright again.  
  
“Would you look at that,” Liadan mused softly, dropping the boot beside her and bracing Lissa’s weight easily as she took her wounded leg in her hands. “Far less hairy than a dwarf’s, as well.”  
  
Her laugh came out despite herself, an awkward, halting laugh the stumbled out like a drunk on a damp night. “I’ll be certain to mention that the next time a curious batchelor questions my favorable qualities.”  
  
Lissa dared to look at the wound. The torn skin pulled back from the jagged slices. It was hard to see how deep they went as the blood insisted on pooling in each gouge. It was not pretty, but truly, she had seen worse and had even helped heal more grievous wounds on fellow mages while they scrambled for safety outside of the Circles.  
  
“All right, then. Better than I thought, worse than I had hoped.” Liadan’s fingers danced carefully around the edges of the wound. “Perhaps you would like to lie on your stomach. Cleaning and wrapping won’t be pleasant.”  
  
Lissa shook her head. “Most of my healing knowledge is magic based. It would be useful to see your methods first hand. I’ll watch.”  
  
“As you wish.” The elf gently set her leg down, Lissa’s heel resting on Liadan’s knee, and washed the blood from her hands. Then, she was reaching into a pouch on her waist and taking out herbs and bandages and a small knife. She offered Lissa one leaf before dropping her gaze to Lissa’s leg once more.  
  
Lissa twisted the leaf in her hands and sniffed it, tearing it a bit to bring out the oil. “What is it? It looks almost like—”  
  
“It is called Royal Elfroot; that is why it seems familiar.” Liadan tore several more leaves from the slender, blue-green stalk, placed the fresh, waxy undersides across the sluggishly bleeding tears, and quickly, clinically, began to wrap the bandage around Lissa’s calf, working fast enough that she stemmed the blood from staining Lissa’s skin once more. “I found it alongside the back of one of the half-demolished huts we saw on the way to the Crossroads. My Keeper had sketches of it in one of her books and I gathered what I could.” A sharp tug from the knife and she tucked the trimmed edge of the bandage in at Lissa’s ankle. “How does that feel?” she asked gently.  
  
Lissa nodded, appreciating the compression wrapping her lower leg. “Much better. Thank you.” She spied her boot, sodden with water and blood and sighed. “Well, I might have enough mana left to give it a good drying. I’d hate to walk back in wet boots.”  
“Another reason to consider wrapping your feet.” Liadan’s voice held amusement, but her expression remained calm. The elf eased her up easily, and Lissa took note of the strength in her slight build. With firm hands, she moved Lissa’s feet away from the rush of water before turning back to the stream and dipping both hands up to her elbows. Lissa watched her for a minute before curiosity overcame her.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
Working quietly, the elf did not reply at first, but as she straightened and pulled her arms from the water, she answered, “Tending to my own.”  
  
Lissa espied her closely, narrowing her eyes as her gaze passed over the elf’s forearms. Just under the sleeve of Liadan’s coat, and only half-hidden beneath the leather wraps around her wrists, several small teeth marks marred the elf’s otherwise unblemished skin. They were not nearly so deep as Lissa’s, and a few had even stopped bleeding, until Liadan removed the leather and re-opened the wounds. Blood dribbled down the back of her hand, falling into the stream and disappearing immediately. The contrast of the bright blood against her smooth skin was oddly artistic. And this time, as the elf worked as calmly as she had before, Lissa found her watching her expression instead of her working hands. She never flinched, not once, and seemed to be somehow separated from the pain she knew she must be feeling.  
  
“Will you be able to walk the rest of the way?” Liadan asked softly.  
  
“I think I can manage, though I was actually serious about a bath.”  
  
“Oh?” Liadan asked with a raised brow. “The shy Circle Mage taking a bath in the open?”  
  
A shiver raced up her spine until she nervously giggled. “No, not exactly. There is a nice spot around the corner of the waterfall that is nice and private. Besides, it’s not like it’s the first time I’ve had to bathe in a river. I’ll be up by dinner.”  
  
“Then, I will leave you to your bath.” Rising to her feet, Liadan gave Lissa a long look that eventually focused on her wounded leg. “Do not let it soak too long, though I am sure you know that. I do not have much of the elfroot and I would much rather save it for an emergency.”  
  
Lissa nodded, and watched her comrade climb up the slope toward camp. Lissa walked toward the falls, careful to use her staff to support her weight from her injured leg. The roar of the falls rushed past, and the spray gently misted her face with cool, clean water. Carefully navigating the slippery stones, she stepped into a secluded crevice just behind the curtain of water and undressed.  
  
She fetched the bar of soap from her pouch and quickly worked up a slick froth. The roar of the falls was a pleasant backdrop to calm her thoughts. With a unique approach, they were able to solve Dennet’s problem, even if it wasn’t the way that seemed obvious at the time. Despite what it might have first appeared, a little investigating showed that the wolves were being manipulated by a power beyond their control. A sudden twinge gripped her chest. While the wolves were important to the balance of life here, they were just animals. And it seems I’ve given them more consideration than . . . than the Templars.  
  
Her mouth was instantly dry, and her chest not a little heavy. She had let her fear cloud her reasoning. While there were Templars who had attacked them, there were crazed Mages who were guilty of the same. And yet she not stopped to think of the underlying causes that could free the Templars from their malice and fear. She sighed. She had even let her fear get in the way of trusting their Commander.  
  
Rinsed clean and dressed, she headed back for camp, determined to keep a more open mind about this fight, including the Templars.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

 

_“Going back in time and change_   
_all the mistakes I made is absurd and impossible;_   
_I look at myself and feel rage . . ._ _  
my vain existence could have been so incredible.”_

_  
_ — _A Selection from “I Must Write This Name In Stone”  
_ _by_ _Andrew Crisci_

  


  
  


Solas bent low now, caressing his hand over the length of the wooden staff, seeking out the flow of the mana within. Soldiers bustled in and out of the main gate of Haven, and just beyond, he could hear the sounds of metal clashing as their Commander called out drills to the soldiers, his voice ringing out in the cold air.

He shifted his weight just so, planting his feet against the cold rock to better his posture as he cleansed the build-up on his staff. Tasks like this had been unnecessary before, his magic resonating cleanly with a well-crafted instrument. But the materials this world offered needed constant attention, lest the overflow of mana drew too much attention from over curious spirits. Slowly, he leaned forward, drawing out the clogged mana with a gesture and let his thoughts turn back to his plot.

The door to the tavern slammed back on its hinges as yet another patron eagerly slipped into the warm building. Every day, Haven’s numbers grew with refugees and would-be soldiers joining the ranks. Solas turned the staff over in his palm again, letting the magic hum through the length. He was suspicious of this Blackwall fellow that had joined them. There was truth in his skill; that could not be denied, and there was a weight on his shoulders that only experience could grant. But there was something in his eyes too akin to those he saw when he peered into the glass and saw his own reflection. No, there was more there to be found in the life of this Warden, but he would not press it lest it bring his own lies to light.

“Afternoon, Solas,” a familiar voice called, and Solas held back an exasperated sigh.

“Greetings, Bull.”

The hulking Qunari smirked. “It’s technically ‘The Iron Bull’ but I’ll let you get away with it. We’re allies now, after all.”

“Yes, so it seems.”

A few of his men, the Chargers, he recalled, came shambling up the path behind him. Bull jerked his head toward the door of the tavern. “Right in here. The tin cans say the grog here is pretty good. Save me a pint, will ya?” As his group piled in, the Qunari gave a considering glance over him. “What sort of mage crap are you working on now?” he asked with a small smirk.

Solas did not hide his frown. “I am maintaining my weapon, in the same way that a warrior must oil and sharpen his sword. Though I believe the exact mechanics of my work would be lost on a non-mage.”

“I’ve seen you work,” Bull commented. Was it with a hint of approval? “What Circle did you say you studied at?”

The space between Solas’ brows narrowed. “I did not study under a Circle. I am an apostate and self-taught.”

“Ah.” He said simply, nodding his head in consideration. “You don’t have the marks of one who is self-taught, all raw talent and no finesse. You don’t have a hitch to you.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t realize you were an expert on casting magic. I think perhaps that aids in my professional appearance.” Was this one really so observant, or was it a vain compliment? It was true that there were no hitches to his spells, not unless they were due to poorly fabricated staves. His technique was habitually flawless, even if it lacked the power he had before he entered Uthenera.

Bull cocked his head to the side, pausing just an appropriate amount of time before shrugging. “Perhaps. Hey,” he started in a smooth drawn tone, “why not join us for a drink? Those darkspawn on the coast were something to remember. You helped.”

“Perhaps another time. I have my weapon to attend to.”

As he turned his attention back to his staff, his ears caught the out-of-place sound of a woman’s laugh. Lissa and Liadan were just entering the Chantry, and the Dalish seemed to be laughing at the human’s expense. Lissa’s face was tinged with worry while Liadan wore an expression of cool amusement as they went up the stairs together. No doubt they were headed to meet with their advisors at the War Table; one of his agents had mentioned that they would soon head to Val Royeaux, and he wondered what they would accomplish there. He let his eyes wander toward their shared marks, the magic just pulsing at the edge of his conscience.

The past several weeks had indeed proven exceedingly interesting. Solas found that he was learning a great deal more about the two marked women, and after more consideration, he decided that he had discovered more as to why they were not instantly killed from the exposure of his magic—a fact that still amazed and confused him. Perhaps, it had been in part to the nature of their character.

The Dalish woman possessed a stubborn tenacity, a trait he knew that he could certainly use in the support of his cause. He had watched her behavior for quite some time. The way she walked, the way her eyes sought out the casually missed—but her skill with blades and stealth paired with that insight led him to a different conclusion. Despite her stated reasoning, Solas did not believe her intentions were limited to reconnaissance.

Her defense of the wolves showed a compassionate mind and a determined spirit—it was a shame she clung so tightly to her clan identity. Her manner toward the Warden named Blackwall had been surprisingly kind and well-mannered, helping to secure the Inquisition yet another ally. She also had been instrumental in hiring the Qunari and his mercenary company, despite her counterpart’s vocal reservations.

Liadan had obvious care for those who could not speak for themselves, be it animal or the oppressed; she was certain to take their side. The missing druffalo had been treated with the same tenderness as an injured party member. She was also unusually watchful of Lissa, even if she attempted to keep her gaze unnoticed. If only he could penetrate her limited thinking, he might unearth a very useful ally.

And yet, it was Lissa who had worked to calm the grievances growing between Liadan and himself, interjecting when she sensed tension rising, and soothing their tempers when words ran hot between them. She was mollifying, far too kind, and it had kept their varied group working together with only minimal frustration. On their way back from the Hinterlands, she had remained on watch with him, only for a few minutes, but long enough to ponder aloud why he goaded Liadan so.

He took Lissa words to heart, curious at her insight, and found that he already regretted his earlier words to Liadan; he had spoken quickly, brash with the freedom of admitting where he walked in his dreams. Somehow, she had brought out the worst in him with nothing more than a few words, and he wondered already how he would be able to mend the bridge he had set fire to. He had not missed the watchful gleam in her eyes as they had dealt with the elf named Mihris who had claimed to be her clan’s First.

The Veil had been weak within the ruins, and though he had said nothing, he had secretly been pleased when Lissa led them toward the broken, moss-covered stones. There was a relic within the dank depths, and thanks to her curiosity, he had been afforded the chance to seek it out. But Mihris had claimed the prize and began to weave a tale that rang false in his ears. He had spoken quickly in their tongue, admonishing her, and realized only too late that Liadan had understood every word. When they had exited the ruins, the Veil now turned to his purpose, he had felt the rogue’s gaze on his nape, and he knew greater caution had to be given around her observant habits. Since then, he had chosen to move carefully to keep from upsetting Liadan further.

He also had to remain wary of the unusual human mage. He had come to expect humans to act more forceful, belligerent, willingly ignorant of things beyond themselves. But her eyes were always seeking, her ears waiting to hear. When they had trespassed on a Dalish widow’s property, the widow attempted to run the group off with violent shouts and slurs, apparently too distraught to note the Dalish presence in the party. But Lissa seemed to understand there was hurt there, and drew it out from the woman. Originally, he had thought it perhaps a move of tactics, an empty kindness to assure the woman of the Inquisition’s intentions. No one, after all, would fault her for not being able to find so small an item among so many potential thieves.  But she had insisted they examine every rogue Templar they crossed until the ring was returned.

She was a student of all things, that was clear, but she possessed a fear and self-doubt that limited her progress. Solas did not expect it to be something she could ever truly overcome, since she was human and bound to a quick life. All things in this world would burn away too quickly, long before these mortals could unearth what potential they might possess.

And that made his eventual plan that much easier to work toward.


	10. Chapter Ten

_"I am not alone. Even as I stumble  
_ _on the path with my eyes closed,  
_ _yet I see."_

 _—Trials 1:15_  


 

A fresh layer of snow covered the now-familiar sight of Haven, and it was with some frustration that Liadan pulled on a pair of boots to protect her feet from the chill. The leather was supple and fitted her well enough, but they were uncomfortable all the same and she hoped that she could conclude her business quickly.

Hefting a rather unwieldy bag further up on her shoulder, she trudged through the snow, nodding now and then to the greetings of those she passed, before she ducked beneath the eaves of the chapel and headed for the last door on the left. With a brief glance in the direction of their ambassador, who was currently speaking fervently to a masked Orlesian, Liadan let the bag fall from her shoulder and land, somewhat gently, atop the research table.

“Here we are, Minaeve,” she said softly as she listened with one ear to what had Josephine so frustrated.

The researcher’s gaze shifted from curious to excited, and she rifled through the top layer of items that Liadan, Lissa, and the others had collected in their travel across the Hinterlands and the Storm Coast. “My thanks, Miss Lavellan. With all of this, we will be able to learn much about the various foes you have faced.”

“I look forward to hearing what you learn.” Liadan took a step back and paused in turning toward the door. The Orlesian noble’s tone grew gradually louder and more frustrated, and after a glance toward all the paperwork piled atop Josephine’s desk, Liadan took in a slow breath and stepped forward.

It took only a few words and polite smiles to urge him on his way, and when he had gone, the door closing behind him, Liadan turned her gaze to the ambassador once more. “You handle fellows like him all day, I assume, either in person or through correspondence. I have no idea how you manage.”

Josephine’s lips curled upward and she tapped at the topmost parchment on her writing board. “With whatever grace I can muster, and when that runs out, I sometimes ask our spymaster for ideas.”

“Ah.” Liadan chuckled at that. “I admit, I think I would like to see how Leliana deals with someone like Lord . . . Whatever-His-Name-Was.”

“I can personally attest that it can be quite amusing.” Brushing back a dark curl, Josephine tilted her to one side, candlelight reflecting in her suddenly perusing gaze. “I have a question, Mistress Lavellan, if I may.”

Wrinkling her nose, Liadan clasped her hands behind her back and mirrored the ambassador’s expression. “If the question is: may I call you Liadan rather than using a ridiculous title, the answer is yes.”

Josephine laughed, her gaze brightening as she drew her board closer to her chest. “Perhaps in time. It would not do to have the recruits hear me call one of our heralds by her given name.”

At the mention of her ill-begotten title, Liadan clenched her hands and allowed her smile to fade a little. “Yes, well, I certainly understand the need for . . . propriety.”

“You do not care for the title, do you?” Studying Liadan’s careful expression, the ambassador exhaled slowly, her gaze falling to the parchment in her arms. “I suppose you do not believe some of the rumors that have reached our ears.”

“That it was Andraste who reached out her hand to me and saved me from certain death in the Fade?” Liadan sneered inwardly. “No.”

The collar around Josephine’s neck clinked as she shifted her writing board, and the flame atop the candle flickered. “Because you are an elf?”

“Because Andraste is dead.” Turning her gaze about the room, Liadan began to tap her fingers to her thumbs, and after a moment, she inclined her head. Lissa had told her to be more careful of her words and to be kind. “I do not mean to be harsh, Mistress Montilyet. But human religion means little to me, and if it was indeed the bride of the Maker in the Fade with Lissa and I, then why would she bother saving a heretic like me?”

“An interesting query.” Josephine sighed and lowered the board before offering the elf a smile. “You and Lady Trevelyan will grow to be a great number of things to a multitude of people. Even if their belief does not align with yours, it does not make their faith any weaker.”

With a nod, Liadan let her hands fall to her sides. “A fair point.”

“I will not keep you from preparing to leave for Orlais.” Circling the desk, Josephine set down her board at last and slowly sank down into her chair. “I left a few books in your quarters for you and Lady Trevelyan to look over on the journey there. I believe they will help prepare you for your time in Val Royeaux.”

“My thanks.”

Liadan moved quickly through the hall, but took a side passage rather than exiting through the main door. The cool air was a relief against her warm skin, and without pause, she walked toward the closest tree and began to scale it. Careful of all the fresh snow, she made her way across the branches and stepped onto the chapel’s roof, making her way across the stones until she could look over the side.

Everyone was going about their daily routine: the Commander was overseeing the troops, the Chantry Sisters milled about the snow, offering aid to refugees, and near the stairs, she could make out Varric’s familiar form next to the Iron Bull’s bulk. The sky was grey, but the clouds were nothing more than pale wisps and the sun shone down fiercely, lighting up the snow.

Lowering herself to the cold stones, Liadan made herself comfortable on the edge of the chapel and watched for a while, content to observe and remain out of the eye of the public, if only for a few moments. When nearly an hour had passed, she looked down at the ground beneath her feet and measured the distance between the roof and the snow-covered ground. She pushed herself to her feet and dusted the snow from her legs before she took a few steps to the right.

She measured the distance a second time, then leapt off the roof. Tucking her head and shoulders, she completed a short roll before rising to her feet, brushing the snow off her tunic with idle motions as she came around the requisitioner’s tent.

“Have something personal against the ground, do you?” The commander spared her a glance as he watched his men run through their practice. A very small smile tugged at the edges of his lips.

"You should know by now that most rogues ignore the easy routes," she answered easily and slid her snow-dusted braid over her shoulder. Her pale gaze darted over the nearby soldiers as they continued sparring, and she touched her fingers to the pendant beneath her tunic and cloak. "You are a good leader."

He nodded in acceptance of her statement before lifting one hand and shouting at a recruit. As the soldier obeyed, the commander turned his gaze to Liadan and inclined his head. "I appreciate the compliment."

"I was very short with you the first time we spoke." The words were spoken quickly and as a confession, but her expression was far from contrite. "I realize you did not mean to be thoughtless with your statement, but—"

"It was thoughtless all the same, yes." He gave her a brief, rueful smile. "I could likely have phrased it better, or steered clear of the topic entirely. I apologize if I upset you or caused offense."

Liadan waved her hand before her. "I was unnecessarily sharp with you. You were curious and did not deserve my frustration." She bowed her head an inch. "My apologizes, Commander."

His smile grew. "As I now know that you do not care for the title Herald, what would you prefer I call you?"

"I would say by my name, but I have been educated to the fact that it might be considered improper." She cast an amused glance toward the troops. "But I would not bite off your head if you were to call me Lavellan.” She lifted one hand before he could reply. “ _Just_ Lavellan."

"Lavellan, then." His hand rose to comfortably rest on the pommel of his sword. "What can I do for you, Lavellan? Or did you come merely to give me an appropriate title by which to call you?"

Her lips curled upward. "Lissa told me I ought to be friendly, especially with those who saved me from what I understand would have been a gruesome execution."

"Ah." He lifted his hand to rub at his neck, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he glanced away. "Cassandra told her, then. I wish she hadn't."

"You did not wish for me to learn that you advocated on my—our behalf?"

He shook his head. “I did not think you were guilty. And it would have been a mistake to kill you without knowing the whole story.”

“How delightedly fair of you, Commander.” Liadan allowed her gaze to trace the line of his profile, her smile slowly fading as she saw the faint circles beneath his eyes, the lines that did not disappear when his expression eased. He was working hard for the Inquistion--for her and Lissa. And he was not the only one. “I am glad to see,” she continued with a more soft tone, “That there are some willing to hold off on judgment. I feel as though the majority will not be so . . . open-minded.”

“The danger we face with the Breach is far more serious than most realize. It is my hope that they will come to understand how important this Inquisition is.” He turned his face toward her, another faint smile playing across his mouth. “How important both the Lady Trevelyan and you are.”

She lifted her gaze from where she had watched the scar on his upper lip. “Well, I will be the first to admit that I am not quite as dangerous as a giant hole in the sky, though I consider myself a fair terror in battle.”

“From the reports, I think that an accurate assessment.” His smile grew. “So it is a good thing you are on our side. I am confident that our goals are worthwhile, that something truly good can come of this. With the two of you working with us to move forward against this threat, I truly believe we have a chance to--” Pausing in the middle of a spirited gesture, he straightened and pulled his arms back toward himself. “My apologies. I doubt you have to the time for a lecture, especially from me.”

Liadan chuckled. “No, but if it keeps me from visiting Orlais, I would gladly listen. And perhaps even ask questions afterward.”

The commander laughed, the sound soft compared to the clash of metal on metal around them, but it intrigued Liadan even further. “Perhaps the next time.” She was grinning now, and he shifted his weight again, his smile caught between amusement and sheepishness. Clearing his throat, he turned his gaze back to the troops. “We still have much to do, to accomplish, before we can be considered a threat.”

“Ser.” A soldier drew closer, bowing slightly as he came beside them both. “A report.”

Meeting her gaze, the commander inclined his head in farewell, and Liadan could just make out the faint flicker of relief in his golden eyes. “Be safe, Lavellan, on your way to Orlais.”

“My thanks. Keep up the good work, Commander,” she answered, and she watched him as he walked away, her fingers idly tapping her thigh as she allowed her gaze to follow him all the way to the entrance of the chapel. _Interesting,_ she thought, still grinning. _For a Templar._

Lissa stuck to the edges of Haven, skirting around its occupants and trying not to make eye contact. Her hood was pulled up to cover her copper mane, and it helped to mask her identity. In fact, as she reached to pet the loaned quarter horse in the stables, she was quickly chided by Harritt nearby.

“Hey, lass! Don’t be bothering them horses. Dennet won’t be too appreciative of someone startling them or messing their diet. Bah,” he scoffed, shaking his head, “but don’t tell him about the carrot I slipped ‘im, and I won’t tell Dennet you’re skulking about.”

Lissa chuckled, reaching out to pat the stallion along the long, smooth stretch of neck. “I don’t think Dennet will mind too much.”

Harritt’s eyes widened in recollection. “H-Herald! My apologies, miss. I didn’t know it was you.”

“Well, that is the point,” she gestured for him to hush. “I just wanted some time away from . . . it all.” She placed her head against the nape of the horse, and enjoyed as it huffed into her hair. She drank in the scent of horse sweat and hay, and imagined a time when life had been very different and she was a little girl playing hide and seek with her brother in her parents’ barn. Absently, she stroked his coat, breaking the caress up now and then with a gentle pat.

Harritt inclined his head curiously, and then shook his head, scratched the back of his neck, and turned back to his workbench.

Lissa tarried, enjoying the way the lean muscles thumped under each of her vigorous pats and the smooth touch of velvet on the end of his nose. “There, there. Good boy,” she soothed, though it was probably more comforting for her than her mount.

So they were to go to Orlais and listen to the Templars. She sighed. There had not been many kind Templars she had faced during her exile from the fallen Circles. In the months that she and some of her fellows roamed the wilderness, not once did they meet a single Templar that had not tried to attack them on sight. She scratched her nails along the horse’s smooth coat, and he grunted with pleasure. Not all Templars would be like that, she knew. Her own brother was a Templar of honor and kindness, a true servant to those around him. But that did not stop her from having apprehensions. Not only did she have to meet the Templars, but she had also never been to Orlais, and what she knew of it she did not like.

Masks everywhere were flaunted on pious people whose daily attire could be worth as much as her family’s estate. Deadly intents hid behind furtive glances and far too much perfume were among the few things she expected. It seemed like a dreadful place, and she was not a little anxious. Josephine had the utmost confidence that her proper upbringing would serve her well in Orlais, but Lissa had not been “properly” raised since she was taken to the tower at the age of eight. She had tried to tell Josephine, but she insisted that Lissa had the carriage and grace of a proper noble of House Trevelyan, even if that meant next to nothing to the lordly lines of Val Royeaux. At worst, she would be quaint, charming, a good mark on the otherwise pitied nobility of the Marchers. At best, she would be a commodity, a Herald. No doubt their presence would be quite the novelty. Lissa wasn’t sure which option she preferred.

“You know,” a deep voice addressed her from behind, “you might clear your head more if you were _on_ the horse.”

Lissa turned, giving a sheepish nod in greeting. “Warden Blackwall. It is noble of you to direct your service here. I hope that together we can locate the rest of the Wardens.”

He crossed his arms. “As do I. But it is not so great a sacrifice. I’m not living in a shack, and the food here isn’t bad.”

She grinned. “Well, I am glad to know that you are being well taken care of. Should you need anything, I’m certain Josephine will do what she can. To be honest, I’m not entirely certain what a Warden does, so I cannot be specific on requisitions. What is that you do?”

He groused a bit and stood with his arms akimbo. “We kill Darkspawn.”

“Yes, I gathered that. But . . . how? Ever since I studied the Wardens work in history books, I’ve been unsatisfied with anything they say. I find it incredibly fascinating, and --” she paused, noting the nonplussed expression behind the thick beard and blushed. “I apologize, Warden Blackwall. I seem to have let my curiosity get the better of me.”

“Don’t worry about it. If you’re so curious, it might be more efficient to simply enlist you.”

“No!” she interjected, far too eager. She coughed, clearing her throat. “I mean, I’ve been forcibly recruited into enough roles as of late. If you would be kind enough not to conscript me, I would be forever grateful.”

He grinned crookedly. “I wouldn’t dream of conscripting the Herald of Andraste. Can you imagine the paperwork?”

She laughed, and he smiled, and it seemed to her to be an unfamiliar gesture to his face. _Curious_.

“I . . . don’t suppose you’ve been to Orlais before?”

He made a scoffing sound in the back of his throat. “A very long time ago. No doubt it’s changed beyond recognition. From what I’ve seen imported, they still have the same poor taste in food. It’s all delicate and full of air.” He crossed his arms again and shifted his heels in the dirt. “Too frilly. Nothing fitting to fill a soldier’s belly, that’s for sure.”

“I see.”

“That’s . . . not what you wanted to hear, was it?” he murmured, giving himself a defeated sigh.

Lissa chuckled, waving her hand. “No, no, it’s all right. I always enjoy an honest critique.”

His beard titled as he grinned. “You are an interesting woman, my lady.”

She blushed in embarrassment, and a nervous titter fluttered from her lips. “You really have been in that shack for a while, haven’t you?”

“I imagine you’d be fair company whether or not I’m used to spending my time with bears.”

Lissa’s unmarked hand jumped to tuck an invisible curl behind her ear. “Well, um . . . I should probably prepare to head out.”

“Fair enough,” he said roughly. “Back to business. I’ll be here if you need me.”

She nodded and scuttled back toward Haven, carefully pulling the hood over her head. _What unusual people this Inquisition seems to attract._ As she slipped into her shared cabin and began to gather her meager belongings into a pack, she wondered if it perhaps their great diversity was part of the Maker’s blessing. Her lips tugged to the side in a crooked smile. _I always knew the Maker had a sense of humor._


	11. Chapter Eleven

 

 _“Tell me where is fancy bred,_  
_Or in the heart or in the head?_  
_How begot, how nourished?_  
_Reply, reply._  
_It is engender’d in the eyes,_  
_With gazing fed; and fancy dies_  
_In the cradle, where it lies._  
_Let us all ring fancy’s knell;_  
_I’ll begin it – Ding, dong, bell._ _  
Ding, dong, bell.”_

 

_—William Shakespeare  
_ _The Merchant of Venice_

 

 

 

The plaza was hot and crowded, but a steady breeze drifted through the arches and between buildings. Everywhere ladies fanned themselves with delicate, ridiculous looking fans _—_ or their lovesick partners did it for them. A few even had servants to fan for them. On the whole, it was a horrendous display, and one that Liadan would not miss when they were back among the trees and clean snow that blanketed the ground at Haven.

The moment they stepped into the plaza, the gossip started.

“Eez zat zee ‘eralds of Andraste?”

“ _Oui!_ Look et their ‘ands!”

“Oh, my. What a villainous looking company.”

“How dreadful.”

With their masks to embolden then, they did not seem to care who heard what they said _—_ including the targets of their gossip. Lissa seemed to want to fold in on herself, but resisted, instead shrinking to the center of their small group. “I wasn’t expecting this . . . but I do see the resemblance in Blackwall’s description.” She inclined her head toward her and whispered, “Do you think they sleep in those masks?”

The elf curled her lips in disgust before allowing the expression to fade as she met one of the bolder gossiper’s gaze. “Who can say? Do you think they would still be sniggering behind their hands if I started jumping around on the various stalls?”

As she and Lissa shared their own teasing, they and their party made headway through the plaza until they drew closer to a hastily erected dais. Cassandra came to Liadan’s other side as she pointed out the waiting templars, and despite wanting nothing to do with another Chantry Sister, Liadan moved with the rest to where the group waited.

It was a brief meeting. The Sister cradled her bruised cheek as the Inquisition watched the templars leave the plaza, and Liadan bent her head toward Lissa once more. “Forgive this clueless elf, but I thought the templars were supposed to respect the Chantry.” Her voice was purposefully loud enough to be overhead by the Sister. “Have I missed something?”

Lissa seemed equally confused, her face a mixture of shock and dismay. “I . . . I don’t understand. The Templars are basically the military arm of the Chantry. They take all of their orders from them. Cassandra, do you have any idea what’s going on?”

The Seeker’s brows were furrowed, her eyes hard chips of ice. “I do not know. But I must speak with the Lord Seeker as soon as possible. Perhaps he can explain.”

“I do not relish that idea,” Solas commented, his focus narrowing on the retreating group of templars.

“Yes, well, we will need to have an idea of their plans, will we not?” Liadan rubbed the back of her neck, disliking the feeling of all these masked eyes upon her nape. “It is something we can discuss when we get back to Haven. For now, did we not have a few other places to visit in this . . . delightful city?”

Lissa instantly brightened. “Yes! In fact, the Grand Enchantress herself invited us to some sort of party she is hosting.” She dug into her robes and offered a pretty envelope of pearlescent paper, a torn golden filigree seal hanging from the corner. “Well, one of her servants, anyway. I’ve so wanted to meet her! She’s a very talented mage, and has changed the way mages are seen in the public eye.”

A matching scowl appeared on both Cassandra and Liadan’s faces. “A party?”

Lissa pulled the paper much too close to her face and corrected, “A ‘salon.’”

“That sounds even more unappetizing.” Liadan folded her arms over her chest and cast a glance around the area, wishing she could throw something sharp and shiny at some of the more curious Orlesians. “I mean, we are not even dressed for such an occasion. And I can only imagine the gossip that will arise from us arriving at some Grand Enchantress’ par-salon with dust still on our clothes.”

Lissa shrugged. “How can be any worse than the tripe they're spewing now?”

“Well,” Solas started, a growing smirk on his face that she had learned to dislike, “it would help to have an idea of her plans, would it not?” he echoed her earlier advice.

 _Ass._ She smiled simperingly at him before turning her gaze back to Lissa. “Fine, then we should go. It cannot be any more of a waste of time as searching for elven artifacts for an undisclosed reason that only I, an elven ass-postate, know how to use, and do not wish to share with the rest of the elves of the world.”

Varric laughed. Solas’ proud expression faded to one of forced neutrality, and she did not bother to hide the sharp grin that spread across her face.

“I’m so excited! It’s not for several hours. Perhaps we can see if any here can fill our current requisitions?” Lissa swung her pack around to the front and rifled through its contents. “I could use some more ink and parchment.”

“Personally, I could use something to eat,” Varric suggested. “A wit like mine doesn’t run well without fuel.”

Liadan held Solas’ gaze for a moment longer before looking at Cassandra. “Food sounds fine, so long as it isn’t as ridiculous as the rest of this city.”

“That depends,” Solas added with a grin she was not sure was mocking or sincere. “I’m fond of the frilly cakes.”

-

The foyer had two staircases that warred for attention, with scrolling rails and pristine white paint. Both curved inward like the necks of two resting dragons, bowing down to the small fountain that burbled and splashed. The marble flooring that mirror images of the guests like a smooth lake. Groups of people even more elaborately dressed than in the plaza (how was that possible) with lace piled on silk piled on frills. Every once in awhile, a ridiculously gilded slipper peeped out from heavy hems, and everywhere those unnerving, blasted masks stared at her, soulless and nosey.

She detested it.

Liadan nearly turned and exited the foyer, but Solas and Varric were behind her and the Seeker gave her a look that screamed ‘you do it and I punch you’. So she took a step forward, remaining beside Lissa, and she tried to look like she did not hate everything in this room.

The herald announced them before it was too late. “Presenting the Lady Trevelyan of Ostwick, and the honored Liadan of clan Lavellan, representing the Inquisition.”

As if there were not enough eyes on them before, all seemed now simply riveted by their arrival.

A few braves souls dared to approach them. “Ah, Lady Trevelyan,” a man with far too tight breeches began, and Liadan noticed that he did not take the time to greet her, “it is so very unique to have you attend. You certainly bring a new element to these soirées. I thought it was going to be another boring evening, but here you are.” He waved his wine glass with a practiced flourish and bowed. His gaze slid from behind his masks to take in the rest of their company. “You have very interesting companions.”

“Good evening,” Lissa began, and dipped in a curtsey with some unease. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord . . .”

“Ah! Where are my manner. I am Lord Dupre, and this is the Lady Chanson,” he gestured to the tittering face behind the fluttering fan.

“A pleasure, Lord Dupre, Lady Chanson,” she inclined her head just so, and Liadan noted the way her fingers trembled on her staff. “This is my companion and friend, Liadan Lavellan, also representing the Inquisition.”

His eyes widened. “I had heard them introduce you, but I never thought you could possibly the chosen Elf of Andraste.” He turned to the Lady. “Did you expect her to be so rural?”

“No!” the woman gasped. “I cannot believe it! A true Dalish, blessed by the Bride. Don’t you wonder what she was thinking?”

Liadan smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “Perhaps she was thinking that someone who understands the meaning of hard work and sacrifice would be an excellent vessel. After all, if she were to chose such a lovely lady as yourself, you would no doubt worry about dirtying your fine clothes or offending your sensitive sensibilities. Already, we have traveled to many dangerous places and dealt with rather unsavory people.”

The woman tittered, and the man laughed beside. “Indeed! Why, that is what I have servants for, dear.” As if to make a point, she snapped her fingers and at once, a lowly figure made its way over to fill her glass before slinking to the edges of the room. It was hard not to notice the pointed ears that matched Liadan’s own.

“Yes, well,” Lissa drawled, her voice serrated with nerves, “perhaps you would be interested to meet the rest of our company? I’d like to introduce you to Lady Cassandra Allegra . . . Portia . . . uh, Pentaghast, famed dragon hunter, Seeker, and Right Hand of the late Divine. I presume you’ve heard of her?” Lissa added brightly, her diversion all too obvious.

This did not seem to deter the guests.

“ _The_ Seeker Pentaghast? Oh, you simply must sit with me, my dear.”

Lady Chanson squealed with glee. “Oh, yes! Tell me everything you know of the Divine!”

The group surrounding them grew in number, and they slowly began to herd the Seeker aside. She looked at Lissa, another silent look of promise on her face. ‘I am going to kill you.’

Varric had gotten himself a small audience, and he seemed not at all unsettled by the attention. Though she noted how he positioned himself between a pair of statues to guard his side from the press. Solas kept the edges, content to watch with far more interest than she would anticipate from the Fade-loving enthusiast. _Interesting._

Lissa spared a sigh in relief, but it was not long lived. A golden masked approached, this one with a far too long nose that made Liadan wonder at its purpose. “I for one am glad you both have decided to attend.” He bowed, giving each a separate nod of his head. “Seeing the same faces at every event does get rather boring, no?”

Lissa looked at her with uncertainty. “Uh . . . I suppose?”

“Dear girl, when you are titled the Herald of Andraste, you needn’t shy away from what is on your mind. Speak in definites if you will speak at all. I have had the pleasure of meeting a few of your companions; they were so incredibly intriguing, I could only imagine at what the Herald’s themselves were like.” His eyes darted to the side with far more discretion than the other guests. “And who is your Elvish companion lurking in the corners? Your manservant perhaps?”

Lissa stammered, but Liadan saw her chance. “Odd as it seems, but yes. My companions, you see, they do not understand some of the Dalish cultures. So when I am otherwise occupied, he offers aid to them. He also translates for my partner here.”

If she could have frozen Lissa’s face and had it painted on one of the ugly vases, it would have made the best souvenir.

“Ah,” he said, with a simple nod of acknowledgement. “I can only guess at how your . . . cultures would collide. Madame De Fer surely knows how to pick her party guests. You know, your Inquisition should make it a priority to attend more of these parties.”

“Bah! Pig shit!” a mocking voice started from the top of the stairs, bellowing loud enough to ensure that all attention was on him. “This gaggle of misfits is nothing but manic peasants and batty Sisters. No one should take them seriously.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the railing casually. “Have none of you talked to these ‘esteemed guests?’ An unwashed servant, a washed up Seeker, and a poor writer—and their leaders are an elf and a Marcher _mage?_ Why, it is a thing of charity we even address her with a title.”

When Liadan saw that Lissa’s knuckles grew pale from her grip on her staff, she turned toward the stairs first. Her swords were a welcome weight on her back and she held the man’s gaze as he came down the remainder of the stairs, each step a haughty reminder, if only in his own mind, that he was their better. When he reached the main floor, he stalked in a circle around them, attempting to show more power, to ensure that he remained the hunter.

Liadan smiled. “Is there a point to your tirade, good sir, or do you simply enjoy hearing the sound of your own voice? Or, perhaps, you simply speak out against anyone who decides to do anything about the giant hole in the sky?”

“Ah yes. As if the Lady Andraste would choose an elf as one of her honored heralds. Or do you deny your divine blessing?”

Lissa stepped forward, her light touch on her forearm only barely restraining Liadan’s reply. “We’re just trying to bring peace back to Thedas,” she offered meekly, and the stuffed pigeon nearly spat in her face.

“Ah, the outsider. A simple, apostate mage. What would you know? Your Inquisition and its claims to bring peace and order, with an army.” He sneered beneath the cover of his mask and moved closer; Liadan took a half step toward him, placing herself between the man and Lissa. “Convenient lies from an apostate and an _elf_. I see from your choice of weapons that you consider yourself a warrior. If you have any honor, you will step outside to answer the charges against you.”

Liadan laughed. “Charges? You mean your complaints? What gives you any right to charge the Inquisition with anything? Do you honestly think that I will cross blades with a man that is basically throwing a tantrum in public, just to soothe his own frustrations?”

“Why you—” He reached for the rapier on his back, and suddenly froze.

Taking a step back as she felt the familiar tickle of magic, Liadan came to Lissa’s side once more.

A cool coating of ice slowly crawled up the man, swallowing him up with crystalline, crackling growls. “Tsk, tsk, my dear Marquis,” a smooth voice corrected from the top of the stairs. “You are being awfully rude to my guests.” Her skin appeared as smooth as her voice, dark and clear of any blemish. If she were honest, Liadan hated the hat, but somehow the woman made it work for her. She moved as smoothly as if each step were a dance, and Liadan felt the first hint of an uncomfortable prick in her stomach. _So this is the enchantress. Creators, I’m surrounded by mages._  

“You’re being terribly unkind, and I can only imagine what your mother would say if she heard you use such language. Detestable, really.” She prowled near the man, circling him like a wild cat. “And disrespecting a woman on account of being a mage? Intolerable.”

“M-Madame Vivienne,” he managed through chattering teeth, “I offer a most humble apology.”

“As well you should.” She shook her head as if wearied by him and clutched his frozen chin between her slender fingers. “What am I to do with now that you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of all these guests, sabotaged my hospitality, and assaulted the Heralds of Andraste, hmm?” Her voice purred. She turned towards them, not a hint of insecurity in her posture. “It is a shame that you are the most injured in this affair. Tell me, Heralds, what would you have me do with him?” She leveled a serious gaze at them. “You may not realize it, having not been exposed to The Game on many occasions, but this man practically assaulted your very lives. You may indeed at this moment be the center of backroom dealings based on the Marquis’ very foolish, foolish words. Such a bold affront in The Game is tasteless.” She turned over her shoulder to look the man in his frozen eyes. “And deadly. The expected penalty for such a poor move is death. But then, he wasn’t playing against me. What shall I do with him?”

Lissa seemed pale, the notion that their very lives were at play seemed to suck the color from her peaches and cream skin. “I—I can’t say that the outcome truly interests me at all.” She swallowed. “I doubt the Inquisition would be bothered by him.”

“Interesting.” Tilting her head, Liadan considered the Enchantress for a long moment before giving a passing glance to the man frozen stiff, and then she turned her gaze to Lissa. “I do not fear a man who bumbles at a challenge. He can live. Perhaps he can learn from this experience.” Her pale gaze found the Marquis’ once more and her lip curled. “Or perhaps not.”

The Enchantress snapped her fingers, and all at once his icy prison disappeared into a cool wisp. “You’ve been granted mercy, Marquis. I don’t imagine there will be other chances you can say you failed at The Game and lived. You might start by not hurling threats like a brutish dog lord. Off with you.” She turned to women as the Marquis made a gangly scamper toward the rear. “I hope your offer of mercy was not given in a desire to see him live. No doubt he will suffer a far more grievous end for his error. And I do not doubt he will relish it. The Marquis is used to fighting with actual blades, but alas—he did not attend the Grand Tourney and remained her to be shamed. I wonder if he intended to best the famed Herald of Andraste to reclaim some of his honor. Pity.”

“I had not realized the clandestine dealings of The Game were so . . . cutthroat,” Lissa managed, stealing an obvious glance over her shoulder.

“My dear, we play for the highest stakes. Only the best play The Game, and only the truly great live. And when you play with such high consequences, would you not become an expert? No doubt while you are traipsing about in the wild, dodging those maddened apostates and traitorous templars, you do not fight as if it were not for your life? The Game is no different. But enough of that—you’ll learn enough about it in your positions, I’m sure. I cannot tell you how thrilled I am that you have attended my salon. I’ve so wanted to meet you.” She turned, taking a few steps away from the crowds that had gathered, leading them toward a more secluded hall.

Lissa’s eyes gleamed like a pup. “And I you, First Enchantress. It is truly an honor.”

Liadan held back the bile in her throat and even managed to reign in a look of annoyance, but inwardly she was biting back a multitude of frustrated comments that would probably make Lissa blush all the way up to her ears. “Yes, honored.”

“Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Vivienne, Madame de Fer, First Enchantress of Montissmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”

Lissa dipped in a curtsey that seemed out of place beneath her plain robes. “And I, formally, am Lady Lissa Trevelyan of House Trevelyan, and . . . also with the Inquisition.” Lissa seemed to preen, simply bubbling with the chance to talk to this Grand Enchantress and play at nobility.

“Liadan of clan Lavellan.” Bowing, Liadan looked at Lissa and wrinkled her nose. _She is actually blushing right now._ “Thank you for inviting us.”

“Ah, but I didn’t invite you here just for pleasantries. I’m sure it is no surprise to you, but since the Divine’s death, the Chantry is simply in shambles. I’ve been watching your efforts. I believe that the Inquisition is the only chance to restore order and confidence to our frightened people. As the leader of the last loyal mages in Thedas, I believe it is only right that I lend my assistance to your cause.”

Lissa paused, blinking several times in thought before she continued. “Forgive my ignorance, Madame de Fer, but what _are_ the loyal mages of Thedas? Loyal to whom, exactly?”

“Why, the people of Thedas of course. Say what you will about our rights, but what about theirs? Do we not have a responsibility to control the powers that we have so that they can go about their days in peace? We remember that magic exists to serve man. If your Inquisition can bring about such order in the tumultuous times, I intend to help.”

“So . . . you support the Circles, then?”

She laughed. “Where else can mages safely learn to practice magic? Magic needs to be nurtured and protected. For the mages’ safety and those of the citizens, the Circles are our best hope.”

Liadan watched the discussion with apathetic boredom, but as the two continued to speak, she listened with growing interest. Was that _really_ what this was about?

“An interesting point, and one with principles I share. We’re not really in a place to deny any support at this point, but perhaps I should check with Cassa—”

Vivienne scowled and interrupted with all the grace of a woman who was quite accustomed to interrupting. “I did not realize that the Herald’s took orders from the Seeker, but if that is what must be done, please inform her quickly. I should very much like to begin reining in the apostates that are terrorizing our people, and offer safe, monitored shelter for those that are loyal.”

“It has nothing to do with taking orders,” Liadan said softly, and she watched the Enchantress closely, choosing her words with dagger-like precision. “Surely you agree, Madame, that there is wisdom in listening to the council of others, especially our advisors. After all, what would the Imperial Court do without your insight?”

“Do you bristle at taking orders?” she questioned, with a slight tilt to her head, and there was a look in her dark eyes that only intrigued Liadan further. “Order is the goal, and we must all play our part, after all. But I would caution you: advice is only as good as the one who gives it, but your Divine’s Right Hand seems to be fair minded, if not overly zealous. I will wait here while you seek her council.”

Hiding a smile, Liadan tapped her forefinger to her thumb before turning her gaze to Lissa once more. “Bristle would not be the correct word. However, I do not think we need to speak with Cassandra at this time. I think I can safely say that Lady Trevelyan and I will not be making a decision as to whom we will support. Not yet.” Her pale gaze shifted to the Enchantress again, her expression deceptively placid. “It is an important decision, of course, and one that should not be rushed for any reason.”

“However,” Lissa was quick to interject, shooting a questioning glance at her, “as I _mentioned_ , we could use all the support we can get.”

“Hmm.” The Enchantress purred behind thinned lips. “I see. I will be content to wait. I look forward to seeing you in the future, my dears. When you’re ready to accept the assistance myself and the mages have to offer, you need only call.”

Lissa bowed again, and this time Liadan could not hold back a discreet eyeroll. “Of course, Grand Enchantress.”

Softly applauding as the Madame sashayed away, Liadan gave Lissa a look that was caught between consternation and disbelief. “Really?”

“Me?” She asked in shock. “Were you even paying attention? We’re already the center of Thedas’ attention, and you want to draw the eyes of The Game on you with a few smart words?”

“First off, a few smart words _is_ The Game that some of these humans seem so interested on wasting their lives on. And, _yes,_ though I am only an elf, I _was_ paying attention.” Liadan gave a few more mock claps of her hands before snorting and turning her gaze toward the masked Orlesians still watching them with interest. “You realize that entire ordeal, from the moment we walked into this opulent waste of money and space, was put on for our benefit?”

Lissa’s brows twisted in confusion. “No. I mean, it’s possible, but the Marquis has been known to be an ass—and even I, poor sheltered Circle Mage that I am, know that. It’s not hard to believe. And—and if it were a set up, what do you have to gain by being a . . . a smart ass!”

“Plenty more than you stand to gain by kissing her ass.” Scar stretching as her lips curled, Liadan snorted again. “She orchestrated the whole event, Lissa, and you seem only too willing to listen to her. Or do you think that all mages agree that the Circles should be reinstated and we should just do what Madame Whatever says just because she dresses well and can throw a swell party?”

“No, no—stop it, Liadan! I’m not some ignorant little girl who doesn’t pay attention despite what you may believe. What does it matter if it was set up or not? Who does it benefit to pretend like you know? Only you! In your pride, in your desire to best her, you would put your own life in danger. It’s reckless. Sometimes, being cunning means being nice. We’d be able to keep a better eyes on her if she were an ally, right?”

“You are ignoring my question, Lissa.” Where the mage seemed to grow more impassioned, Liadan only grew colder. Lissa could only guess at her ideas. “All mages should have a chance to decide whether or not the Circles should be reinstated. Kirkwall was an eye-opener for everyone, not just mages or templars.”

Lissa’s shoulder slumped. “Kirkwall was a disaster, but sadly just a symptom. I don’t disagree with the Madame’s principles, that mages need a place of safety to have their magic nurtured, but it is obvious the current institution had plenty of . . . flaws.” A shadow seemed to pass her face, a darker cast to her features than she had seen prior.

For a moment, Liadan relented, reaching out, but not touching Lissa’s arm. “I am not doing this blindly or because I dislike her, Lissa. But I am not going to play to the Enchantress simply because she expects everyone to take her advice and do what she wants because she words it prettily. I will be honest with her, and everyone else. Especially you. If she is willing to try and snare us like this, what else is she willing to do to ensure her position with us?”

Lissa rubbed her temples, and she looked far older than she should. “I think your honesty should be tempered with tact.” She chuckled, her voice finally trailing off with a sigh. “To truly snare us, she’d have to outwit us both.” A bright, crooked grin reappeared on her face. “You really do think me naive, don’t you? Come on. Let us discuss it with the others. I’m certain they will have opinions, as well.” And Liadan thought for a moment that Lissa half rolled her eyes before turning away with a tired grin.

She watched Lissa as she walked away, her pale gaze darting over the people within the hall as the human Herald moved to join their party. She took notice of who followed Lissa with their eyes, a turn of their head, and those who began to whisper all the more furtively. This Game they insisted on playing was beyond foolish, but Liadan could see the merit in simply observing. Her fingers traced the hilt of the dagger that rested at her hip, and she smiled to herself before she followed Lissa back into the swirling dance of colors and secrets and lies.


	12. Chapter Twelve

  _"I’m Nobody! Who are you?  
__Are you_ — _Nobody—too?_  
_Then there’s a pair of us!_  
_Don’t tell! they’d advertise—you know!_

 _How dreary—to be—Somebody!_  
_How public—like a Frog—_  
_To tell one’s name—the livelong June—_  
_To an admiring Bog!"_

_—Emily Dickinson_

  

“This is so much better than that stupid party,” Liadan said in a mock stage whisper as she ducked behind a barrel. She glanced in Lissa’s direction before she circled the blockade and dipped into the shadows. Lissa bristled, but bit her tongue and prayed to the Maker for patience.

They had made their way toward the note’s secret meeting place after a quick dinner at one of the outside restaurants, and though it had come as no surprise, they had met some resistance once they entered the quieter side passages of the city. It was dark and balmy, but Liadan had seemed much more at ease out here. Even Cassandra was not scowling so hard. Lissa had a growing headache, and the edges of her vision began to blur, making her ire much easier to goad.

“I don’t know why we’re even following this stupid rabbit trail,” she groused.

“Because you owe me for that stupid _salon_.”

Lissa rolled her eyes and felt her breath tighten in her chest. _Oh, Maker, help me. I swear I’m going to_ _—_

An arrow only just missed her, instead sticking into the thick blue door that stretched out above them.

“Mercenaries!” Cassandra barked, dashing into the fray with shield raised.

But with only a meager handful of opposition blocking their way, they broke their lines easily. _Almost too easily_ , Lissa noted, taking a moment to scan the upper levels.

“Does anyone else feel that this was just a bit too easy?” Varric voiced, validating her concerns. Liadan hummed, almost happily, from the shadows to his left.

“I do not sense anyone immediately nearby,” Solas added, scanning the outer courtyard. “But it does seem a bit straightforward.”

With her heart pounding, Lissa pushed toward the main courtyard while Cassandra took point. Somehow, she knew the elven rogue was there, just out of sight, and despite their argument earlier today, she knew which way her daggers would fly.

As they pushed the doorway, a spout of flame gushed out. She had her mana too taxed to notice the tingle of magic that was called just beyond her. Thankfully, Solas had not been so distracted, and she and Cassandra were coated in a cool blue barrier before the flames could catch them.

In the center of the courtyard stood a masked man of Orlesian nobility, judging by the overly opulent garb and ostentatious mask. _A mage? Is he a former member of the circle, or had he been avoiding it this entire time?_

“The Heralds of Andraste?” he shrieked, and his voice echoed off the walls until a shiver crawled down her spine. “I can only imagine what it must have cost you to discover me! I imagine you have put yourself out, weakening your position to learn of my identity.”

Lissa shared a look with her companions, meeting eyes with Liadan until the elf shrugged. “I’m sorry. Who are you?”

“Puh-lease!” he spat, perching his hands on his hips and spreading his elbows until she thought he looked like a stuffed bird. “I am far too important for you to have found me by accident! I will triumph over you in—”

Interrupted by the sound of a dull thud, they all turned to find a dead body collapsed in the rear and behind it stood the thin, gangly frame of a female elven archer. She grinned. “Dead guy says ‘what!’”

He sneered. “What is the meanin—”

His words faded with the squelch of an arrow piercing his throat.

With her staff at the ready, confused and irritated beyond her patience, Lissa demanded: “Could someone _please_ tell me what is going here?”

Varric shook his head. “I’m as lost as you are, Freckles.”

“I am guessing that our fellow rogue in the shadows,” Liadan said as she stepped out of the darkness from Lissa’s left. “Is also the person who sent us our mysterious note.” She looked at the other elf, head tilted.

She ignored them, laughing at the corpse of the mystery man. “You did hear me, right? I warned him. Dead guy says what. Ha!” She bent to wrap her hand just below the fletching and tore the arrow from his throat. Lissa turned aside, pressing her eyes shut before the tip tore through his flesh. “Stupid rich tit. Always grabbing for things they don’t deserve.”

Lissa looked up, studying the woman carefully. She was an elf, that was obvious, but she did not seem like any of the elves she had met, even though her experience was admittedly limited. For one, she was wearing shoes. And two, elf or no, her mannerisms were unpredictable and her eyes held a wild glint. Overall, she instilled in the mage a great sense of unease.

“Are you them? The Heralds?” she asked suddenly.

Lissa looked to Liadan, a concerned expression on her face. “Yes,” the rogue answered simply. She shrugged as Lissa’s eyes widened.

“You’re an elf.” Her features crumpled for a moment before she turned her gaze to Lissa. “And you’re just a human. Weird innit?”

“I . . . suppose. But, perhaps to be sure, exactly _why_ is it weird?” Lissa asked, and she did not miss Solas’ amused snigger from the rear.

“Everyone goes on about you. Magical this. Fell from the sky—ahhh!” She waved her arms around and made a cacophony of noises Lissa assumed were embellishments of some kind. “And then, you know, y’ sort of plain, is all. But that’s not bad, innit? So long as you glow.” She stared at them sidelong. “You do glow, right?”

“Why does it matter if we glow?”

The woman let her head fall backward and she heaved a sigh of exasperation, one which Lissa very much felt like sharing. “Because you can fix the sky, right? You two _are_ the Herald things, yeah?”

Lissa nodded slowly, feeling somewhat like she was beginning to understand the context. A cool breeze rushed through the courtyard, and the bare skin on her arms began to prickle with goosebumps. “Then . . . yes. We are. Why are we here, then?”

“I dunno,” came the quick reply. “Wouldn’t know this bloke from Andraste’s ass, though I think hers would look nicer. All I know is, my people said your people should check them out. And you did. And he’s dead. Job’s done.”

Lissa sent a pleading, confused look at Liadan, mouthing, “ _What?_ ” and shaking her head. This woman was a loon, a genuine, highly skilled with a bow, loon.

“Why don’t we start with our names.” Liadan met the other elf’s gaze. “I am Liadan and this is Lissa. And you are?”

“Sera. And this here is cover. Get ‘round it.”

“Why?” Cassandra growled, and Lissa felt a little better knowing that her impatience was shared.

“For the reinforcements?” the woman, Sera, replied as though they all should have known better. Her face slowly shifted to a sly grin. “But don’t worry. I got a good tip off to their equipment shed.” She giggled as she hopped behind a wooden crate and nocked an arrow. “They’ve got no breeches!”

“ . . . what?” Lissa really did not want the question answered, but it was in undeniable clarity when a handful of soldiers came rushing toward them, swords raised, and wearing no breeches. “What—why—” she stammered, readying a blast of ice for the man racing toward her, naked from the waist down save for his smallclothes. “Why could you not have taken their swords?”

A crazed giggle sounded overhead as the lithe rogue rained arrows down onto their half-dressed foes. “Because no breeches? Hahaha!”

Both Liadan and Varric chuckled, the dwarf covering the corners that Sera could not, and Liadan throwing her daggers end over end into the darkness. Cassandra rushed the wounded and Solas cast spell after spell, fire burning at the leg hairs of the pantless men.

Lissa twirled her staff, letting it circulate the mana as she focused a bolt of lightning that halted the last attacker. The courtyard was suddenly quiet, and the cool night air filtered in between the walls. Lissa sniffed harshly, trying to clear her nose of the scent of burning flesh.

“That was bloody brilliant, haha!” The elf woman giggled in a way that made Lissa nervous. She turned, setting her eye on the pair of women. “I think I’ll help your Inquisition.”

“Wait, what?” Lissa asked, tired of feeling shocked, but she was unable to keep the surprise from her face. “What do you mean?”

“Well, here’s how it is. I’ve got friends, and I’ll use them to help you. Also, arrows. You know. It’s not that hard to understand, really.”

Slipping her now clean swords back into their sheathes, Liadan considered the elf’s words and then shrugged again. “I really do not think we are in the position to start refusing help, especially if we end up asking ‘the Madame’. I would like having another rogue around.”

Sera grinned. “See? Like that. I’ll do the shooting, you do the stabbing. Save the world, yeah? Or, whatever it is you do.”

“Yeah.” Liadan’s brows rose and Lissa could see that the rogue was barely holding back a smile. Well, at least she was not scowling anymore. “Or whatever.”

Lissa shot a frown at her pale-haired partner. “Well, since we already must discuss allegiances with the Seeker, I see no reason why she shouldn’t be taken under advisement, as well.” She crossed her arms, her jaw setting stiffly. “No matter how terrible of an idea it is.”

Sera sniggered, her smile not deterred. “It is a terrible idea. Throwing normal people at an _un-normal_ hole in the sky? Giving you two glowing hands? I mean, you’re just . . . average, right? People. Whoever let this happen has a terrible sense of humor.”

“She has made more sense in the last five minutes, than all the other people I have met since the Conclave.” Liadan shook her head slowly, her pale gaze narrowed in mild surprise. “Astonishing.”

“Yes, riveting,” Solas commented in dry sarcasm.

“The kid has a good aim, no denying that,” Varric added, reaching down to pluck an arrow from the center of an enemy’s forehead.

Lissa scoffed. “As long as the arrows are pointing in the right direction,” she murmured, shaking her head. And for a second, she thought she caught Solas’ lips quirk in an amused grin.

“We can discuss it later,” Cassandra barked.

Sera squatted on the ground, thin legs crossed as she fingered the fletching of an arrow. “So . . . in the meantime?”

Lissa shook her head and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. “I suppose . . . our people will inform your people.”

“My friends and I can’t wait to hear it.” And there she stayed, a stupid smile spread across her face, and stared back at them until they turned their backs to leave.

-

The carriage creaked as it jostled over the bumps in the road. Were Lissa’s thoughts not so busy, she would have fallen asleep long ago, much like Cassandra snoring in the corner, or Solas, who appeared to be deeply engrossed in the Fade. Above her, she could hear Varric keeping their escort occupied with one of his tales. Lissa strained her ears to listen and grinned. She had heard this one before, but it was one of her favorites. She particularly liked the part about a brusque female Guard Captain trying to woo one of her men. The carriage passed over a large bump, Lissa was nearly dumped from her spot on the bench, and it tore her from her thoughts.

She looked to her left to check on Liadan, who sat staring out the window. She had been oddly quiet since the other two had fallen asleep. It seemed odd to Lissa that she would be hesitant to accept the help of an established official, one with reputable connections, and instead vocally support some stranger with underground connections, questionable sanity, on account of what? That she was good with a bow? Perhaps because she was an elf, too? Lissa did not understand it.

“Staring is considered rude by humans, or so I was told.”

Lissa blinked several times before noticing her mistake. “Oh! I-I didn’t realize. My thoughts got carried away with me.” She shuffled in her seat, edging closer to the wall of the carriage.

Glancing in her direction, Liadan pushed her wind-blown hair from her forehead and smirked. “No need to pine silently. I am right here if you wish to talk.”

“What?” she asked, her thoughts now more scattered than they were before. “No, that’s not—what I mean is—” She heaved a sigh, staring down at her now clammy hands. Lissa remained quiet a bit longer, trying to piece together what she knew and hoping that her thoughts would fall orderly into place. But they didn’t. She sighed, letting her eyes rest on the messy strands of dark hair that stuck to the Seeker’s forehead. “You confuse me.”

For a moment, Liadan did not respond. Then, she chuckled. “It was a joke.”

Lissa shook her head, and no humor was present in her reply. “Not that. I mean how you can vouch for someone like that Jenny character and not the Grand Enchantress.”

“Probably because I was not enamored with the idea of her before I even met her.” Liadan finally turned and looked into the carriage, her gaze passing over both Cassandra and Solas before resting on Lissa. “I realize that I am not a mage, and I likely do not understand how things work for you, but I am a hunter and I know a trap when I see one. She unnerves me.”

“Liadan,” Lissa started, her voice sounding as tired as she felt. “I know I’m not a seasoned hunter, but that doesn’t mean I’m ignorant of subtlety. And yes, I admire the hard work Madame Vivienne has put into getting where she is. I mean, mages aren’t exactly welcome in such public roles like hers. But that doesn’t mean I can’t think clearly. I still think she’d be a great ally.” _And a lot better than that crazy archer._

Liadan’s pale, unblinking gaze held hers, tracing her fingers over the pendant she wore beneath her tunic. At first she looked as though she would not reply, but just as Lissa made to tuck in for sleep, the elf took a breath and said softly: “You know, I think we would work better together if we both stopped assuming what the other said, and simply listened to the words that are being chosen. Because I am choosing mine specifically. Earlier today, you said some things that made it sound as though I were implying you were a . . . sheltered, ignorant girl. That could not be further from the truth. I do not think you are incapable of logical thought; you are by far one of the most clever and kind mages I have met, and I cannot imagine the things you have lived through, both in the Circle and out. Nor do I think you assume I am some simple Dalish elf who does not understand how your world works, and what should be done or said.” Her gaze fell to the unforgiving line of Lissa’s jaw before she added, “When I say enamored, I mean just that, nothing more and nothing less. Had the situation been reversed, had our positions been the opposite, would you have allowed me to mirror your actions without some worry or question?”

“I wouldn’t have embarrassed you in front of someone you admire, at least not intentionally. I never told Madame Vivienne that she was welcome to join the Inquisition. I don’t have the authority to make that kind of claim, but you jumped in, correcting something I hadn’t even done. I was trying my best to be . . . diplomatic, and you probably didn’t mean to, but then you jumped in and made me feel extremely inept.” Lissa wrung her hands together, wondering why she was even bothering to say how she felt. It was not going to make a difference anyway. Was it? “Everyone was watching us, watching her. I was trying to sound like what everyone expects me to be—a noble, a Herald, and I—you . . . .” Lissa sighed, letting her head fall against the back of the carriage. “Never mind. Next time, you talk to the famous mages. You do a better job, anyway.” Liadan did not give a rat’s ass about The Game, or diplomacy, or any of that. Lissa thought that mattered. Or had thought it did, anyway. But now . . . ? _Maybe when the world is about to burn, a direct approach is better_. Why had the Maker forced her into this, anyway? She just messed it up at every turn.

“Lissa, please.”

Slowly turning her gaze to Liadan once more, Lissa saw the elf frowning, the skin between her eyebrows deeply furrowed. “I apologize for upsetting you,” she answered in practiced defense. “I . . . will try to be more considerate.” She shifted, curling into a ball and leaning against the carriage, praying she could fall asleep quickly.

But Liadan did not give up. With a sigh as she cast a glance at their sleeping companions, she turned her entire body toward Lissa, propping her bare feet up on the seat mere inches from Lissa’s boots. “How can I have a conversation with you if you retreat into your head every time our opinions are opposed? Lissa, I _want_ to know what you think. Creators know I would be struggling to be a damned Herald all on my own; there are two of us so this should be half as hard. _Use_ me, Lissa.”

Lissa’s brows cinched tightly and her thoughts wound up tighter than before. None of what Liadan said made any sense. People did not usually want to know what she thought. In the Circle, free thinking was something they did in secret, criticizing texts late at night, trying new techniques outside of the lectures away from the prying eyes of the Templars. Even the Chantry wanted to tell her what the Maker said, twisting his words into their agenda. And now it seemed that, for whatever reason, her thoughts suddenly mattered thanks to a freak accident and a brand that granted her a strange sort of fame. But they did not really want Lissa’s thoughts; they wanted to know what the Herald had to say.

Lissa shrugged, her mind so full of thoughts she could not pick a single one. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to tell me what thoughts are stewing in that pretty, little head of yours.” Liadan leaned forward and looped her arms around her knees. “I know you have plenty. You screw up your face, like this.” She held the expression she was making before letting her features relax and tilting her head to one side. “What are you thinking?”

A ragged sigh slipped from her lips, but she shoulders stayed tight and guarded. “I . . . I don’t know.” The tension slowly slipped from her shoulders, and her heart began to race. “I mean it literally. I don’t know anything, and everyone suddenly wants to know what I think. And everything I say is being criticized and recorded down and—and I really wish I could go back to when I was just _Lissa_ , even if no one cared about her . . . .” Her mind was screaming at her to, for the love of the Maker, shut up! But despite knowing better, once the words started coming, she could not get them to stop. And now they were out there, unable to be taken back.

“No one?” Liadan asked softly, watching her as carefully as she always did. “Not even in the group you travelled with after your Circle disbanded?”

“There was Mannus, one of my tutors. I got a lot of his attention because I was a good student, but that didn’t win me any favors with my peers,” she chuckled nervously, swallowing past a growing knot in her throat. “He actually nominated me to attend the Conclave. He died there.”

Inclining her head, Liadan reached out to pass her fingers over one of Lissa’s knees before she retreated back to her half of the bench. “I am sorry for your loss.” She took a deep breath and glanced around the carriage, idly tapping her fingers. “All right, then. We should focus on one thing for now. How about . . . .” Her pale gaze turned toward Lissa again. “Something small. If you had to choose a favorite branch of elemental magic, what would it be?”

The threatening tide of emotions damning up behind her shredded sanity ebbed for just a moment. “Storm,” she answered far too quickly. “Storm magic.”

“Oh?” A faint smile crossed the elf’s lips before she propped her elbows on her knees, lifting one hand to cradle her tattooed cheek. “Why?”

“A lot of reasons, I suppose. It became my favorite in the Circle. Whenever a really bad storm would come through, wind shaking the trees and lightning splitting the sky, the Templars would scurry back inside. It was too powerful for even them, with their armor and swords and lyrium.” Her eyes shifted out the window, watching the blurred landscape rush past. A wistful smile tugged at the corner of her lip and she chuckled. “I used to imagine a storm coming to rescue me someday, all bluster and lightning. It would scare the Templars away, but not me. Storm magic is . . . . well, it just _is_. You have to use your passion with fire, your mentality with water, and your will with earth. But with storm magic, you have to empty yourself and let it work through you. Of all things, I think the storm is the most freeing.”

“That sounds . . . quite wonderful.” Liadan hummed softly and pursed her lips. “Very lovely, you know, magic and all. Not like swords.”

Lissa blinked, replaying the words over in her mind, taking stock of her posture. “What do you mean?”

“Magic. It intrigues me.” She paused and chuckled as she took in the surprise and confusion on Lissa’s face. “What? You think I do not see the beauty in the spells you cast? Even this bald idiot over here looks like an artist when he works a spell.”

Lissa let her gaze drift toward Solas, and she thought she saw his eye twitch, but it was hard to say in the low light. “Oh, his spells _are_ beautiful. They make some of the most interesting sounds, like music.”

“You do not hear anyone saying that about my sneaking about in the shadows do you?” The moonlight faded behind the clouds and Liadan’s eyes gleamed for a moment in the darkness before she lowered her gaze and laughed dryly. “My weapons are cold and sharp and they bring no music. But your magic, when I watch you weave sparkling strands of electricity between your hands . . . it is wonderful.”

Lissa tilted her head, eyes studying what she could catch of Liadan’s face. “But I can’t navigate the dark like you can. I’m, well, I’m a bit of a klutz.” She hoped that in the dark her blush of embarrassment was hidden. “I wish I had the agility and grace to pounce around like you do. You walk across the grass, and I swear I can’t see your footprints even when I look for them. What do I have when I can’t use magic?” Lissa sighed, a shadow darkening her features.

“Any elf can do that.” Liadan sighed and looked at the still slumbering Solas. “Even an elf who does not want to be an elf.” She brought her gaze back to Lissa before the mage could decipher the look on her face. “What do you have when you do not have magic? Why, your brains, of course. You are very smart.”

Lissa felt a sudden chill creep up her spine and a choking sense of helplessness grip her throat. _Not smart enough, apparently_ . Her fingers dug into the soft flesh of her arms until her nail beds turned white. _No, not now, Lissa. Think_. In her mind, she forced down the visions, the memories that were stamped onto her brain, and envisioned happier times, some of them real, some of them what she imagined: horseback riding with her brother, rolling around in tall grass, the scent of hay and spring air, and imagining what the sea must sound like. The clawing fingers around her throat loosened and she managed a swallow. She forced her mouth to form words, to force her mind to focus on the present. “Surely there has been some clumsy elf somewhere,” she chuckled, the tone more forced than she intended. The elf stared back at her, lack of conviction dulling the luster in her glowing eyes, and Lissa simply cleared her throat.

But Liadan did not make her wait long. “Perhaps.” She looked at Lissa for another moment, eyes bright even in the darkness, and then she smiled, almost mischievously. “Want me to teach you?”

A laugh barked from her throat in disbelief. “What? Teach me to . . . jump around with pointy things? Yeah, bad idea.”

“No, no, no, you leave the sneaking and all that to me.” Liadan’s smile grew. “No, would you like me to teach you what to do if you do not have your magic?”

Lissa considered this quietly for a moment, tapping the toe of her boot against the bench. “What sort of things?” she dared to ask, her curiosity taking over.

Excited, Liadan slid closer, legs crossed as she leaned forward and showed Lissa a small knife in her palm. “Here,” she offered. “Take this. Now, it does not look like much, I know, but even a blade this size can really hurt a man or kill him. Especially if you take him by surprise.”

Lissa reached for the small knife and let it rest in her hand. Would something like this actually do her any good? She knew how to use a knife to skin a small animal, score a piece of wood to make it easier for cutting, and had even used it to flip small cake over the fire. But she had never used one for self defense. “I-I’m not sure I’d make good use of this . . . .”

“It is surprisingly simple, I promise you.” The mischievous look was gone from Liadan’s eyes, and her tone had lost its lightness. “You make sure you have a good grip, just like this. Mmhm.” The elf’s fingers curled around hers, guiding them over the hilt. “Now this knife is long enough to pass through light armor and skin and muscle if you use enough force.” Gently guiding Lissa’s hand, and using her own body as reference, Liadan showed weak points starting at her throat. “A thrust here will sever the artery and they will bleed out without much struggle. And here, if you place it right, will pierce a lung. If you are on the ground, you can aim here behind the knee, or here, at the ankle. It is difficult to fight if you cannot place your weight on one leg.”

Lissa swallowed. “That sounds very . . . effective.”

“It has to be. Sometimes you do not have the luxury of fighting from a distance.” Liadan guided Lissa’s hand upward again. “For Templars, you will have to aim for the spaces between their armor. You might not kill them, but blood loss will slow down even a seasoned warrior.”

Lissa sighed, staring at the knife intently. “Well, it's a start at least.”

“I can teach you,” Liadan said after some thought. “When we get back to Haven, I can show you a few things that will help you, with and without a knife.”

“I . . . I think I’d like that.” She met the reflective eyes of the elf with serious contemplation. “Thank you. I mean it.”

A sharp, little smile crossed Liadan’s face and then she turned her gaze back out the window. Her fingers tapped idly against her leather-clad thigh, and her voice was little more than a murmur when she said, “Hopefully it will never come to that.”

“Yes,” Lissa answered absently, knowing full well the possibilities that might arise. “Hopefully.”


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

 

 _"She and the lady in the cape_  
_Are suspect, thought to be in league;_  
_Therefore the man with heavy eyes  
Declines the gambit, shows fatigue,_

 _Leaves the room and reappears_  
_Outside the window, leaning in,_  
_Branches of wistaria  
Circumscribe a golden grin;_

 _The host with someone indistinct_  
_Converses at the door apart,_  
_The nightingales are singing near  
The Convent of the Sacred Heart,_

_And sang within the bloody wood."_

 

— _Sweeney Among the Nightengales_

 

 

Haven was growing more and more full with each passing day; she could barely find a place where she could be alone, and at times, this would sour her mood. But what really frightened her was that, some days, not having a place to escape did not frighten her as much as it used to. Not that she would ever admit it aloud.

From the moment she woke just before dawn, to the moment she let her head rest on her pillow at night, Liadan played her part as one of the Heralds with all the grace that Josephine could ask for. She was kinder, more approachable, and it was not uncommon for her to work alongside some of the recruits, or stand with the Commander and observe the soldiers’ training. Now and then, she spent some time with Josephine in the ambassador’s study, poring over books and learning what she could of various countries, their goods, and what level of trade the Inquisition could broker with them. It was not even rare for her to be seen walking with Lissa among the snow-covered buildings, their heads bowed as they discussed their options and various missives from refugees requesting their aid.

Liadan found that the Iron Bull and Varric were interesting conversation partners, and she had spent several evenings with Lissa by her side, the two of them listening to the various tales that the Chargers and Varric shared. It was an interesting way to learn all sorts of information, and if everyone assumed that her flushed cheeks and relaxed smiles were from the drinks she had, well, then that was exactly what she wanted.  
  
What they did not know would not hurt them.

Blackwall and Cassandra had both agreed to spar with her now and then; she wore her bruises like medals of honor. Often, the two elven rogues could be found atop various rooftops, laughing and keeping score of an ongoing target practice challenge. Today, Sera was ahead by two arrows, but just the day before, Liadan had riddled the stuffed dummy with thin, needle-like daggers, and there were plans to continue the challenge when they returned from the Fallow Mire.  

Occasionally, she would linger around the stables, sneaking treats to her favorite mounts and taking the time to stroke each horse and say a few kind words. Twice, she had taken one of the available mounts to enjoy long walks around the frozen lake, thankful for the silence and chance to have a few moments alone. There were always guards within shouting distance, but there was something that settled within her as she spent time beneath the open sky, surrounded by snow-dusted trees and the quiet chirps of nugs that fled to their burrows as she passed. It reminded her of all the hunting and scouting trips she had done with her clan, and if she came back a little quieter than she had left, no one thought to mention it.

She continued to keep her distance from Madame Vivienne, as much for Lissa’s sake as her own. The one time she had walked the halls of the main hall to meet with Minaeve and nearly collided with the Enchanter, Liadan had slipped back into the shadows and retraced her steps. It was far easier to apologize to the creature specialist later than pretend to smile and listen as the Orlesian mage spoke. Liadan had promised Lissa when they returned from Val Royeaux that she would behave, but she did not have to behave if she did not spend time with the Madame, right?

Several times, and most often late at night when they were hidden within the privacy of their shared hut, the two Heralds would spar, Liadan going step by step with Lissa in various ways to dodge attacks, disarm enemies, break holds, and land fatal blows. Liadan was quick, breaking through whatever defenses Lissa put up, and defeating the mage in the least moves possible. Lissa took each defeat with grace, her features set stubbornly as she requested to try again, and though she still struggled to land killing blows on her opponent, she did her best and took each lesson to heart.

“Squeeze harder,” Liadan said between breaths, going still for a moment before wriggling beneath the mage’s weight. “And keep your weight centered, or I—”

Lissa adjusted her forearm, cutting off Liadan’s air supply. “Will try to use your feet.” Her muscles trembled as she worked to keep her hold. “I know.”

For the space of a few heartbeats, the two were silent, weight shifting, arms and legs locked, and then with a grudging tap, Liadan motioned for the mage to let her go. “Good,” she said, drawing in a lungful of air. “But do not be afraid to put more pressure on the throat. Force them to sleep sooner, or crush the windpipe.”

“All right.” Red-faced, Lissa sat back on her heels and swiped at her damp brow. “Thank you, Liadan. I feel a little less inadequate than when we started.” She chuckled.

Liadan smiled crookedly, giving her an appraising glance. “You will figure it out.” Bending, she grabbed a clean nightshirt and moved toward the deep, ceramic washbasin that was set up between their beds. “I am going to wash up before bed.”

Lissa nodded. “Good idea. I'm not sure how much more sweat this cot can handle.”

“True.” Laughing dryly, Liadan slipped off her tunic and leggings, and stood in her small clothes before the washbasin. She tied her hair back from her face and began splashing the cold water along her face and arms, eyes closed against the chill. Goosebumps rose on her exposed skin, and as she smoothed a small washcloth over her muscled arms and legs, she turned. “You are doing better. Do you feel more comfortable with the things I taught you?”

The mage hummed thoughtfully. “Mostly. I understand the tactics, but my body doesn’t understand the reason behind moving like this.” She shrugged, tying her hair on top of her head and working her fingers over the closures of her robe. “Ask me to cast a spell, and I don’t have to spare a thought for how to hold the staff or plant my stance, I’ve just trained so much. It will take a lot more time to feel comfortable with a blade, but at least know I have a working understanding.”

Lissa paused and Liadan could feel her eyes discreetly scanning over her scars, before she turned away to slip off her own shirt. “Those scars run deep,” Lissa said at length. “Do they hurt?” she asked with sensitive sweetness.

“Rarely.” Pausing with the cloth at her nape and ignoring the drip of cold water over her shoulders, Liadan cast a glance at the scars. “The training will take time. I did not take to it within two weeks either.”

The mage moved to join her before bending to wring out some cool water from her washrag into the basin, and Liadan watched as Lissa’s eyes rose to meet hers, something perceptive shining in her golden orbs. “All good things take time, I suppose.”

Nodding, Liadan dipped the cloth back into the water and swirled it around, aware of the mage’s gaze still on the scar that cut from her breastbone nearly to her belly. Lissa’s curiosity was nearly tangible, and when she finally opened her mouth to ask, Liadan had to bite back a laugh.

“Not that you need to, but I do know some healing spells that could help.” She pressed her lips together and watched the water drip from her cloth. “I mean, as long as it doesn’t hurt but . . . they don’t seem to have healed very well.”

“I did not have a healer present at the time I received this wound, nor much of an opportunity afterward,” Liadan admitted, her gaze downcast as she set the washcloth aside. “If you wish to work on it, I do not mind. Though the wound is several months old now.”

Lissa thinned her lips. “It’s been three months since the Conclave.” Her brows dipped in concern. “Did it happen near then, or . . . ?”

“A few weeks beforehand.” A wry smile crossed Liadan’s mouth and then faded as she reached for her nightshirt. “It was not so important.”

Lissa quirked a crooked smile. “No doubt it was still tender when we were thrust into all this. Perhaps that explains your prickly attitude at the beginning,” she teased.

“Perhaps.” Moving toward her bed, she sat down and watched as Lissa finished. “It certainly did not help,” she added almost as an afterthought.

At that, the mage chuckled. “No, I imagine not.” She patted her face and torso dry, dressing in fresh nightclothes and sat on the edge of her bed, expression downcast. “Do you think it will make much difference, talking to the mages and Templars?”

Liadan took a breath and shrugged. _Would it?_ “I suppose we really will not know until we try.” She met Lissa’s gaze before shifting her weight and dropping her nightshirt on the foot of the bed. For a moment, she considered refusing Lissa’s aid, but decided that it would only make the woman more suspicious. “Shall I lay down?” She paused and glanced down. “And take off my breastband?”

Lissa nodded, readjusting her messy curls to keep them from her face. “It should be obvious but it will probably feel . . . unusual, for a bit.” Her expression softened as she rolled her hands together, a faint hum barely perceptible between them. “Then again, I’ve not known you to shy away from discomfort.”

“I doubt it will hurt more than the wound itself.” Shoulders bobbing with laughter, Liadan removed her breastband and then stretched out on the bed, her pale gaze focused on the ceiling as Lissa went to work. But just as she bent closer, Liadan lifted her hands and added, “But only this scar.”

Lissa gave a considering hum before hovering her hands over the scar, coaxing a blue light from her palms. The ridged scar began to tingle and grow slightly warm, the skin regaining feeling it had long since lost. The rejuvenated nerves began to pinch for a moment, and it was as if a dozen hot needles had stuck into the old injury. But as soon as the pain registered, it was gone, replaced with a soothing coolness.

Liadan lifted her head off the pillow, watching the magic with a look that was both unsettled and curious. But Lissa kept her gaze on her work, her touch gentle and her magic remaining warm. The skin shifted ever so slightly beneath each pass of her hand, and the scar seemed to flatten at Lissa’s command. Liadan turned her gaze to Lissa’s face and watched as the mage’s brows furrowed deep in thought and a faint sheen of sweat covered her forehead. Eventually, the only evidence of the gnarled scar was a thin, pink line between her breasts.

Lissa pulled back, quietly working to catch her breath. “I wish I could do more. Perhaps after I’ve some rest.” She gave a crooked grin. “What do you think?”

“It is . . . .” Liadan stopped and took stock of the old injury. There was no dull pain, no stiffness, and as she smoothed her fingers over the barely-there scar, she chuckled to herself. “It is good. Thank you, Lissa.” Pushing herself up to sit, she reached for the nightshirt at the foot of her bed, and paused when she saw Lissa’s gaze on the other scars that marred the skin between and beneath her breasts.

Lissa stood quickly when she saw that Liadan watching her, and pushed her hair back from her face again before working the loose curls into a braid. “You know, if you ever want my help, I’ll do what I can.” She tilted her head, leveling a serious gaze at her from under the heavy curtain of copper hair. “I mean it.”

“I know.” Liadan tugged the material over her head, her slender fingers tugging at the ties at her throat to keep her hands from trembling. Her skin still prickled from the touch of Lissa’s magic, and before she could do something foolish, she pulled the covers over her and rested her head on the pillow.

The telltale squeak of the cot sounded Lissa climbing into bed. With a short puff of air, she blew out the nearby candle, the only light came from the fires outside. “Good night, Liadan.”

“Good night, Lissa.” Liadan closed her eyes against the darkness, and listened to the sound of the mage’s breathing, wondering if perhaps she should have refused. Rubbing her fingers over the healed skin, she grimaced and toyed with her pendant. It would do no good to worry now.

Lissa woke first, her dreams too erratic for any further rest. It was still dark, a little damp, and slightly cool. Using her magic to aid her sight in the dim light, she dressed and used the extra time to plait her hair in an intricate design, braids over braids all along her scalp and bunching at her nape in thick buns made of woven plaits. Carefully, she used a blunt needle and thread to secure them in place. The sounds outside began to stir, and she knew Liadan would soon be awake, if she were not already.

Her eyes followed the slender curves of the elf resting underneath her blankets, and her mind went to the night before, and the terrible scars that were carved into her companion’s lithe frame. The one scar she had healed had a story to tell, she knew. It was probably from a sword, gathering by the depth and long arc it cut down her torso. It had not healed well. Liadan had probably been on her own, as it had not been shown proper attention and healed painfully, improperly. Lissa had taken away the discomfort and tightness, but she knew she could never dull the memories that came with it.

 _And there are so many others_. A well-healed, burn wound stretching over one hip and thigh, and several shallow cuts over her arms, stomach, and thighs, all likely from various fights throughout her life. Lissa’s chest stung with a pang of sympathy as she recalled the curve of the most offensive scars burned into her memory. They curved under and around Liadan’s breasts, gnarled and far too dark. A shiver went up her back. Those were the scars of scars, repeated injury in the exact same spot. Had she been a slave at one point? What abuse had she suffered? And why had they been placed so carefully, almost artfully, throughout the silvery tattoos that matched the vallaslin on her face?

Lissa thought of her own body, torn in her own way. Only there were no scars to show the abuse inflicted on her, at least, not on the outside. Sometimes she wondered if scars would make it easier, something to prove that it had happened, a thing to point to and blame instead of recoiling from the dark lines carved in her mind. But looking at her companion, she doubt she would say it was any easier.

Lissa carefully packed her bag, readying herself for the long trip to the Fallow Mire. Once packed with the necessities, she squatted next to the hearth, coaxing a flame to light the half burned logs to give Liadan a warm room in which to dress. She stayed there for a moment, letting the heat soak into her clothes and skin before slipping out to greet the cold day.

Outside, her breath slipped out in visible puffs as a chill slowly threatened to chew through the layers of her clothes. She readjusted her pack and made for the requisitioner to get a list of things they needed.

Just beyond, she heard a familiar voice speaking in hardened tones.

“I cannot believe he did this.” Leliana commented sharply. “Did he think I wouldn’t notice?”

Curious, Lissa changed her course, heading for the little tent just beyond.

“I realize that,” the scout answered in rough tones, looking up at the spymaster from under his hood. “There are just too many questions.”

“I think you know what must be done,” she sighed, straightening and adopting a cold expression. “Do what you can to make it clean. He was my friend.” The scout nodded brusquely, turning to see one of the Herald’s standing there and looking to Leliana for confirmation. The spymaster narrowed her eyes on the mage. “Do you have a problem?”

Lissa blinked. She had not said anything, and she did not think she let her thoughts spill over to her face. But then, Leliana was a master at that sort of thing. “Maybe? I’m not entirely sure.”

“What do you mean?” came the short reply as she folded her arms.

“Well, I’m not in the business of what you do. I can’t claim any experience. I don’t feel that it’s really my place to offer advice.”

Leliana raised an eyebrow. “And yet you have an opinion.”

“I do, but perhaps not what you think,” Lissa eyes drifted to the scout waiting and hesitated. Leliana nodded, and the scout bowed out of the tent.

“You believe that I should not kill a man to save the lives of twelve more?”

Lissa held up a hand. “No, not . . . that’s not it. Were life simply equated to mathematics, that seems more than fair. I just tend to not see people as . . . numbers.”

The spymaster scowled, levelling a hawkish gaze at Lissa that was far more chilling than the morning air. “As you said, what would you know about my position? It is my responsibility to anticipate danger and to cut it off. It is my responsibility to expect the unexpected. I cannot do my job and spare concern for my ideals.”

Lissa inclined her head, choosing her words carefully. “Was that in the requirements when the Divine hired you? To eliminate your morals on the altar of effectiveness?”

“You do not know what is expected of me. What I do—”

“No, no. You’re right. I just think . . .” Lissa sighed, folding her arms behind her back. “That maybe you are too hard on yourself. This man killed . . . Fariah, was it?” Leliana nodded. “Justice would dictate that on that fault alone, he deserves to die. But, at least for me, I’m glad the Maker shows me mercy. If you must kill him,” Lissa paused to offer a gentle grin, “allow yourself some mercy, too. Not everything is your fault.”

It was too difficult to tell what the spymaster was thinking, her expression schooled in neutrality. But Lissa thought that maybe there was the slightest touch of surprise in her eyes. “Thank you, Herald,” she said at last, her tone giving nothing away.

With a slight bow, Lissa permitted herself to slip from the tent, backing out a bit awkwardly as her heart pounded in her chest. Had she really just told the Left Hand what to do? _Oh, Maker_. As nerve wracking as their little exchange had been, she could not help but feel a bit of sympathy for her. Thankful for the brisk weather, she made for the stables, dodging through soldiers and early rising refugees, enjoying the soft crunch of the thin layer of fresh snow coating the ground before readying herself for the trip to the Fallow Mire.

-

  
The air was getting warmer and the sun was high in the sky. Bird song drifted from the nearby trees, and their horses plodded a steady, soft gait along the dirt paths. All of these were pleasantries that Lissa tried desperately to focus on as pointed barbs were flung between her companions.

“So what is it like, being an apostate thrown out into the wild world of demons and having no formal training to trust in?” Vivienne prodded.

“It is not unlike what you experience, Grand Enchanter. Except that I know what I am doing,” Solas replied coolly, straightening his posture on his mount.

Vivienne laughed, a haughty series of notes that grated on Lissa’s nerves. “Darling, you really ought to consider something formal. If I recall, it was I who had to douse your trousers after you set yourself on fire.”

Solas scowled. “Perhaps I did it on purpose.”

“A very _educated_ tactic, I’m sure,” she grinned smugly.

Just behind her, Lissa heard Liadan mutter something, and then Sera began to giggle, but when she turned around, both rogues met her gaze innocently. Liadan even smiled, the first she had given today. “I do hope you enjoy your time at the Fallow Mire, Lissa. You will have such wonderful conversation partners. I just worry you will miss me too much.”

Nose wrinkling at the obvious sarcasm, Lissa worked to hold back a frown. It would be their first attempt at splitting up since they had met, and though it had been their own idea to see if it were possible to close a rift alone, that did not mean she was happy about the thought of being separated from the elf who had been her near constant companion for the last few months. Even if she did poke and prod her occasionally.

“Still don’t see why we need old egg-head tagging along with us,” Sera said, casting a glance in Solas’ direction as he continued his argument with Vivienne. “Ser Fade and Madame Pointy-Hat seem to be getting close!”

“A well-rounded party will be more helpful than a party full of mages.” Cassandra looked up from the most recent missive from their scouts, her mouth pursed in an unforgiving line. “And with the reports, it would do us good to have at least one mage in each party.”

Lissa wished Solas had been placed in her party, but one look at Liadan had been enough to remind her of the elf’s last conversation with the Grand Enchanter, and she decided to let the matter go. There would be more time later, perhaps on the trip back to Haven, to speak with him more about the odd runes she had found. She supposed she could always ask Vivienne, but since she had already scoured the references and tomes scavenged by the Inquisition, she doubted the Grand Enchanter would have much appreciation for something not covered in traditional literature. It was a shame, really, that such a brilliant woman was not more open-minded.

With Cassandra hashing out her plans for their upcoming trip, they were disarmed of their barbed words—at least for now. Lissa would be accompanied by Blackwall, Vivienne, and Varric, while Sera, Cassandra, and Solas would go with Liadan.

“Ah, that should make ol’ droopy ears happy, right?” Sera looked to Liadan, not bothering to lower her tone. “Put all the elves together in one party. Ooh, except—wait—I’m not very ‘elfy’ am I? Do I have to go with Tits or am I allowed to be in elfy-elf club?”

Lissa did not have to turn over her shoulder to know the scowl that Sera had earned from her fellow Herald, but she turned all the same. “You know, I might say something about the dirty look Solas just gave you, but I’m more concerned about that nickname. Were . . . were you actually referring to _me?_ ”

“Yeah, I was. So?”

“Expect to have your face pounded into the ground until you come up with a better one,” Liadan answered before adding almost snidely, “ _Scrawny_.”

Lissa forced down a blush and wished she could shrink into her robes, but mingled with the embarrassment was an odd warmth at her friend’s defense.

“Oh,” Sera drawled, and Lissa braced for the sure to follow ridiculous comeback. “Bit possessive of ‘em, yeah? Good taste.”

“Thank you.” Liadan adjusted her weight in her saddle, not a trace of embarrassment on her face. “I do have excellent taste.”

Lissa visibly shrunk, urging her mare to pull away from the group, her face hot. _Of all the tasteless conversations!_ She rode next to Cassandra who led the pack and attempted to take her mind off it.

“Have you been to the Fallow Mire before, Cassandra?” The sound of her heavy armor clinking softly with each click of her mount’s hooves. The warrior raised her brows in thought.

“I have, but is has been a long time. I do not relish going back.”

This unsettled her. What could make the stalwart Seeker wish to avoid someplace? The possibilities were not comforting. “What makes you say that?” And she regretted the question as soon as it was asked.

“The place is surrounded by flooded swamp lands. It smells terrible and makes all of your food moldy. That, and there are zombies that like to surprise you.”

Lissa sat up, eyes wide in disbelief. “I’m sorry, but did you say zombies?”

Cassandra grimaced, grunting in displeasure. “Yes. Ever since the Breach, the undead have been crawling out of the lake. It is terrible fighting them. I always end up covered in rotting flesh and there is little fresh water to bathe. I hope we do not have to stay long.”

For a moment, Lissa considered if she were saying something only to unsettle her nerves, but the Seeker, she knew by now, was not one for jokes. “. . . I see.” Her stomach twisted and sank. A marsh. A zombie infested marsh.

Lissa sighed, determined to focus on the warm sunshine and clear skies, conscious of the sweet smell of grass and the warm leather of the saddle. If Cassandra were to be believed, it might be some time before the small comforts were to be enjoyed.

“Lissa.” Liadan came to Lissa’s other side, her mount nearly jostling her own and snorting deep, excited breaths. The elf’s expression was downcast until she was close enough to murmur: “I did not mean to upset you.”

Lissa took her time to meet her gaze in reply, considering how she would answer. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” She let the space of several hoofbeats fill the gap before she spoke again. “I don’t relish the idea of splitting up.”

“I do not like it either.” Liadan glanced over her shoulder at the two mages as they sized each other up for another round of insults. “But are you sure you cannot take Solas, too? I mean . . . I do not really need a mage.” She turned narrowed eyes to Cassandra. “Do I?”

“I would prefer it if you did.” The Seeker answered simply while Lissa raised her brows.

“Yes, you certainly need to take him if Vivienne is coming with me. Otherwise, we might be short one Enchanter and one elven apostate when I return. _Maker,_ they are wearing on me.” She rolled her shoulders, stretching her neck to relieve the growing of knots of tension just below the skin. “Wait a second.” She turned to Liadan, a playful, accusatory look on her eyes. “What do you mean you ‘don’t need a mage’?”

Pursing her lips and letting her gaze wander to the other side of the party, Liadan slowly shrugged. “Maybe I just got used to working with one that did not make me want to scratch my eyes out. I mean, if I had a choice, I would go with you, but . . . .”

“You are so mystifying. You think magic is intriguing, but you don’t like mages. Now how does that equate, I wonder?” She was glad for the chance to do the teasing.

“My sister is a mage, you know, as well as my father,” Liadan supplied, rolling her eyes. “And I never said I did not like mages. Only that most of the ones I have met made me . . . uneasy.”

Lissa sighed. “And no doubt the ones we’ve recruited do not help. So tell me: what _do_ you think of our resident mages?”

“They are annoying,” was the swift reply. But as Cassandra gave a grunt, Liadan adjusted her grip on the reins and added: “For two people who are supposed to be very smart and clever, they fight like children. I did not think I would meet anyone more stuck-up than Solas, but it seems I was mistaken.”

“Have you no thoughts on their aid in battle?” The Seeker kept her gaze ahead, but there was more than a little curiosity in her voice.

Liadan shrugged again. “I have only fought alongside Lissa and Solas. They are both conscientious and adapt well to the flow of battle. As for the Madame, I suppose I will have to wait and see.”

Lissa hummed thoughtfully in agreement. She would have to wait and see, as well, and her hopes were feeling more strained as the search for camp continued, and the distant sound of sharp bickering continued.

As the progressed, the air became thick and humid, and soon Lissa and her mount were slick with sweat. “It feels like we’re walking through the mouth of a dragon,” Lissa murmured, pausing yet again to use her damp sleeve to slake the sweat from her brow.

“It is not quite as hot,” Cassandra interjected matter-of-factly, “and you also do not have to worry about teeth. And it doesn’t smell like rotten meat.” She made a noise of disgust, and Lissa shot a look at Liadan.

“Why, Seeker,” Liadan said with a glance in the woman’s direction, “that almost sounded like a joke. Except for the whole part about it being true.”

Cassandra pursed her fine brows. “What? It was not a joke, Lavellan. Dragon’s never are.”

“Oh, I know.” The elf pushed her hair back from her face, lifted it off her shoulders, and tied it back with a stip of leather. “I certainly hope we do not run into one here, either.”

 -

As the moisture in the air became thicker and swarms of gnats plagued the travelers, there were few things to appreciate. Except, Lissa noted, the fact that Solas and Vivienne were too distracted by the grim atmosphere to continue arguing. Finally, Cassandra caught sight of their banner hanging limp and wet just over the next soggy hill.

“Our outpost is ahead. We will discuss the area with our scouts, and from there, we will go our separate ways.”

“I was expecting more . . . hmm.” Liadan pursed her lips and looked about with curiosity. “Fog and storm clouds and the moaning of the dead, what with the way you were describing it. It looks like a normal marsh to me.”

“It is.” She insisted, her nose slightly wrinkling. “Until the dead come walking at you and tumble into your tent while you are sleeping.”

Lissa gasped, clutching her reigns. “The animated corpse fell in your tent?”

Varric moved forward, eyeing the nearest path of water. “Ah, the undead. Always good for a laugh.”

Lissa scowled at him. “That is not funny, Varric.”

“Do not worry.” Liadan laughed and cast a glance in her direction. “We will have sentries set up to make sure that does not happen.”

“Yes,” Lissa acknowledged with a stiff upper lip. “We will.”

And though the thought of not travelling with Liadan for the next couple of days sent an uncertain warble of unease in her stomach, Lissa felt her curiosity piqued at the thought that they might be able to close Rifts more quickly. If nothing else, that was worth having a zombie or two stumble into her tent.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

 

_"The spry Arms of the Wind_   
_If I could crawl between_   
_I have an errand imminent_   
_To an adjoining Zone—_

_I should not care to stop_   
_My Process is not long_   
_The Wind could wait without the Gate_   
_Or stroll the Town among._

_To ascertain the House_   
_And is the soul at Home_   
_And hold the Wick of mine to it_   
_To light, and then return."_

_—Emily Dickinson_

  

They had prepped with the admirable scout, Lace Harding, and with her thorough information had constructed a plan. Liadan would go with her group to close the rifts across the area and address the rumors of a possessed apostate, while Lissa and those with her would face the Avvar who had taken their men. Lissa knew the plan was sound, and splitting up would allow them to test their marks on their own, and potentially help many more people.

Her stomach still twisted uneasily at the idea.

She slung her pack over her shoulder and checked over the list of acquisitions. It seemed the need of this organization continued to grow like a hungry beast. Even as she scoured over the long list, the _plit-plop-plat_ of raindrops spattered against the page. She moaned, handing the list back to the officer and drew her hood over her head.

“Did I not say it was a miserable place?” Cassandra grumbled at her side.

“Come now, dear. It is only rain. I expect there to be much worse things in those swamps,” Vivienne encouraged, her neck straight and proud even in the thickening downpour.

“I know,” the warrior murmured back. “I’ve seen it before. Somehow the blasted things have found weapons.” She drew her sword and made a few steps towards the dilapidated, half-sunk dock. “If you focus on the ones with bows, I can handle the rest. Only do not touch the water.” Lissa paused to look down at the thick murky waters, the surface blurred with rain. “If you touch it, more will come.”

“Right,” she nodded, grimacing. As she walked, each step lifted with a wet squelch and it wasn’t long before her toes were already damp.

“Remember when I said that Haven was out in the ass-end of nowhere?” Varric quipped, slogging through the marsh behind her.

Lissa chuckled. “Yes.”

He grimaced. “I lied. _This_ is the ass-end of nowhere.”

Lissa quirked one eyebrow. “You mean with all those stories of you and the Champion, you never found yourself in rougher places than this?”

“ _Pfft_ ,” he scoffed, adjusting his grip on Bianca. “Rougher, yes. But this is . . . this is terrible. I’d fight a dragon with Hawke any day than walk through this.”

Cassandra did not even turn her head, but Lissa could clearly envision the curl in her lip. “That could be arranged . . . if we knew where she was.”

“Aren’t you going back to Nevvara, Seeker?” he quipped, easily navigating her accusation.

“Why?” she asked sharply. “Are you eager to see me go?”

“I wasn’t, actually. But now that you mention it . . . .”

She scoffed. “How do you know I would not just drag you along?”

He made a mocking gasp. “Be still my heart! I’ve grown on you.”

The noise of disgust was quick to follow. “Like a fungus. A fungus who still has many answers to questions I have.”

“I do hate to interrupt this delightful conversation, but while your gums were flapping, I’ve noticed we have company.” Vivienne gestured with her staff into the dark, and though it was blurred and fuzzy, there was a distinct outline of . . . something on a drier spot just beyond. As they neared, there seemed to be a torch light flickering, sharpening the silhouette of the figure. It was most definitely a person. _A Qunari?_ she wondered, noting the massive bulk of the shadowy figure.

As they neared, it was clear this hulking fellow was one of the Avvar they had come to address. “Be careful,” she cautioned quietly, “if we can negotiate with these people without a fight, that is my preference.”

“I don’t see the hostages,” Varric noted, his keen eyes narrowing across the sullen landscape. “Do you think they know how hostages work?”

Lissa looked to Cassandra and nodded before greeting the man with a short, “Hail, stranger.”

He turned, a careless swagger in his steps. He obviously did not consider them a threat. “Ah, so you are the Herald. Though I am sure you know it, but my kin would have your head on a platter. But,” he shrugged, the giant hammer on his shoulder moving easily, “it is not my job. You have nothing to fear from me.”

“I am Lissa Trevelyan of the Inquisition. With whom might I be speaking?”

“Me? I am Sky Watcher. I keep the guard and interpret the signs. With the hole in the world, spewing out demons, I am constantly occupied.” His brows furrowed and his face upturned to the cloud-covered sky. “I have no idea what it is trying to tell us.”

She followed his gaze to a nearby rift she felt more than saw. Her palm itched, and something in her gut tugged as her eyes brushed over it. “The rifts?” she questioned, curiously. “They’re a sort of magic gone wrong, a tear between this world and the realm of spirits.”

“I already knew that, Lowlander. I mean the Lady of the Skies. The writing of clouds and the signs in the flocks of birds _—_ they’ve changed so drastically, I cannot guess their meaning.” He paused, looking at her quizzically. “You do not know the Lady of the Skies?”

Lissa hesitated, shifting back and forth between her feet. “This would be the first time we’ve been introduced.” She cleared her throat, looking to Cassandra who stood by, stoically keeping guard. “I do not see my people, the ones your kin captured. What can you tell me of them?”

He tilted his head, considering it thoroughly before answering. “Two were injured during the skirmish, but they were all alive. At least they were, the last time I saw them.” Beneath his mask, she caught his mouth twist in a grin. “They’ve been trained well. They took out more of us than I expected.”

“Forgive my curiosity, but the message we received from your people was quite . . . imperative. I was told the Heralds were challenged to a fight. And yet, you are . . . .”

He laughed, and she jumped a bit in shock at the unexpected sound. It was a wide, deep laugh that rumbled in his chest. “I don’t want to fight you. That’s the son of our chieftain. He’s claimed you as his opponent. It would be disrespectful to defeat you without giving him the chance.”

It was easy to sense Cassandra’s ire build, and she could hear the slight groaning of her armor as she shifted her stance to a readied position.

“So, then, you read signs in the sky? And interpret them to your people?”

“That’s one thing I do. I also prepare the dead. I mend the bleeding, and become a dagger for the dying. I _don’t_ pick up a blade for a whelp’s trophy hunt.”

 _Ah_ , she mused to herself, _so then defeating me would count as a badge of honor? And based on his tone, it may not be something all his people think is wise._ She nodded, taking a moment to let the silence rest between them. “I should take my leave, Sky Watcher. I must obtain our people and address the challenge presented to me. I appreciate your information.”

He nodded, turning his gaze back to the sky. “Watch the water.”

She looked over her shoulder, and Cassandra began to lead the way toward the rift.

“Be careful, Herald. I do not think the demons will be concerned about disturbing the swamp.”

Lissa acknowledged her with a nod, slowly and deliberately stalking toward the rift. As she neared, the itch in her palm turned to burning, like something sharp rested beneath her skin and was scratching to get out. As she lifted her hand, she felt the same familiar tug as her magic resonated with the rift.

“Here goes nothing. Be ready.” Her fellows nodded, and she leveled her gaze at the rift, slowly lifting her palm toward the tear. Her mark sputtered, then flared to life, connecting to it with a violent green arc of magic. She waited, feeling the magic as it explored the tear until she felt the familiar snag and yanked.

It opened.

“Well, we know you can open it!” Varric yelled over the sudden screeching of demons as they belched from the rip. “Let’s hope you can _close_ it!”

A gangly abomination appeared out of the ground before her, knocking her off her feet. An arrow stuck in its throat, and a sharp coating of ice slowly fractured its way up the creature’s legs, anchoring it to the ground. Lissa did not waste time in standing; immediately she called down an arc of lighting that burned through its core, and a loud crack split the air as it broke apart into smoldering flecks of green.

As the group continue fighting the swarm of demons, and the zombies they attracted just as Cassandra predicted, even the Avvar, Sky Watcher, came in swinging, smashing the demons to bits and flinging more than a few zombies back into the water with a series of splashes.

“Now!” Cassandra barked, “While the demons are gone!”

Lissa thrust out her palm toward the rift, urging it as she had, waiting, _waiting—_ it caught, and she pulled it, twisted it, and tugged back, feeling the seam knit itself together.

For a moment, she stared, slack jawed in relieved wonderment that it had actually closed.

“Well done, Herald,” Vivienne acknowledged with a brief nod.

“Maker’s balls,” Varric sighed, plopping down a nearby rock. “Glad that’s settled. I’ll feel much better traipsing up to my waist in zombie soup knowing that you can close the rifts.”

She felt more than saw the hulking Avvar come near. “Lady of the Skies!” he breathed in awe, staring at the empty space where the rift had been. “You can mend the gaps in the air?”

“It’s what the Herald was sent here to do,” Cassandra insisted reverently.

Lissa traced the outline on her palm, staring at the odd brand absently. “That _is_ how I got the title ‘Herald.’”

He stared at her, a newfound respect weighing in his eyes. “Then perhaps you do have the favor of a god.”

 —

They regrouped on an outcropping of stones, one of the few elevated areas they had found. The rocks were slippery and covered in squishy moss, and it took considerable effort to remain securely balanced. The rain had stopped, but the overhanging branches continued to drip, and the humid air ensured that they had not dried out at all. Her clothes started to stink, but it was hard to tell from the dank, acrid smells of the rotting dead and scummy swamp. Another stinging fly bit the back of her neck, and she slapped it away reflexively.

“There,” Varric noted with narrowed eyes. “There seems to be a castle of some sort. It’s probably where the Avvar are holed up.”

 

 

 

 

“I still think Lissa should have dealt with the apostate,” Liadan muttered, circling a long-dead tree and trying to ignore the constant grip and suction of the mud on her wrapped feet. “I mean, I just think she would have been the better choice to handle a mage that does not wish to be in a Circle.”

Solas plucked his staff from the mire. “Well, if you were more politically correct, perhaps you would have been assigned differently. Besides,” he grinned like the ass he was, “I am more than capable of dealing with any rogue mages we may encounter.” He raised one brow and adopted that cool, scholarly tone he so often used. “You needn’t worry,” he teased.

Doing nothing to hide her scowl, Liadan rolled her eyes and bent closer to the ground near the slow-moving creek that wound through wet, ore-flecked rocks. _Politically correct, my ass. I’ll bet that they just don’t want Lissa dealing one-on-one with more mages._ She tucked her soaked hair behind one ear as she studied the half-lost tracks, and cast a narrowed look deeper into the gorge before consulting a ragged map that she had found tucked within a water-damaged book.

“Lookit that. She _does_ do elfy things.” Sera cast a frustrated look at her ruined shoes and raised her voice over the rumble of thunder. “You really think you’ll be able to find her like this?”

“Not if people keep shouting,” she said under her breath, and straightened, resting her hand on the slick stones beside her. “She went this way, within the last day or two, from what I can tell. And there are no tracks leading out.”

Blackwall shifted his weight, looking far less miserable than Liadan would have assumed a man wearing heavy armor would feel, especially with all the rain. “It is likely that she came here for shelter, as well as a chance to keep clear of the undead.” As he moved to join her, he gave Liadan a brief glance, rainwater dripping from the ends of his beard. “You have keen eyes, Herald.”

With a small nod, she turned back to the entrance of the gorge and led the way between the rocks. It was slow going, between the slick ground and the lack of natural light, and Sera sniped several colorful curses as she lost one shoe in the mud. But after a brief rest beneath an outcropping, and another hour winding their way through the passages, Liadan held up one hand and warned the rest that they were getting closer.

“I read over this mage’s journal _—_ her name is Widris _—_ with Solas, and from what we can tell, she is not only an apostate, she is also likely making pacts with demons.” Rubbing her hand over her face and flinging away rainwater, she met each of her companion’s gazes, one by one. “From her entries, it sounds like she is growing more and more manic, so be careful. Solas and I,” she glanced at him and inclined her head as he nodded, “will try to talk to her down before we attack. It would be better not to fight an unknown number of demons.”

“But we can shoot her, yeah?” Sera rechecked the fletching on her arrows, her smile as sharp as the dagger at her belt. “If worse comes to worse, we get rid of the threat?”

Solas frowned. “Only if it comes to that.”

“She has spent a fair amount of time in the area. It would be beneficial for us to learn what she knows, especially anything about those runes we saw near the entrance of the Mire.” Liadan held the other rogue’s gaze, keeping her expression severe. Why did this remind her so much of the young ones she had taken on hunts? “I do not want to see a single arrow until we are sure she is a danger to us.”

With a brief roll of her eyes, Sera nodded and straightened her quiver on her back. “You got it, Ghost. No arrows ‘til she tries to kill us.”

“We could attempt to flank her,” Blackwall supplied. As Liadan unrolled the map and shared it with the others, the Warden leaned close enough to point to a break in the rocks. “If two of us were to go this way, we would have her on two sides.”

“It is a good idea.” Solas rubbed his thumb over the wrapping at the base of his staff, his mouth pursed as he considered the map. “Though the decision rests upon our leader’s shoulders.”

Liadan searched the scrawled lines on the map and bit the inside of her cheek. “Blackwall, you and Sera go around that rock wall and meet us in the hollow. It should not take you more than thirty minutes to circle around; Solas and I will wait for your signal.”

Blackwall and Sera soon disappeared, and both Liadan and Solas settled in to wait. The rain began to taper off after a few minutes, and by standing close to one another beneath a small shelf on the rocks, the two found brief respite from the constant wet. As they stood in the hush, shoulders occasionally brushing, Liadan stared at the wet grass and mud that squished beneath her toes. Tapping her fingers to the hilt of one of the daggers on her belt, she sighed and blew a raindrop off the tip of her nose.

“You saw the remains,” she murmured, watching from the corner of her eye as he made marks on the soft ground. “Before we split from the rest, there were bodies in those houses. It was not just the undead that still torments this land; there was a plague, too.”

He hummed. “It happened a fair distance in the past, as well. In all that time, no one has come to claim this land as their own, save for the undead.” The butt of his staff paused mid-stroke, his voice softening further. “The illness must have been terrible.”

“There is no chance that our people will catch it, is there?” Liadan grimaced. “And by _our_ people, I do not mean elves.”

Chuckling, Solas continued to etch runes. “I understood. But from what Scout Harding shared with us, what with the Avvar traveling through this area, and the villages that still thrive on the outskirts, no, I do not think the Inquisition is in any danger.” When she did nothing more than nod, he turned his gaze to her, his expression curious. “You are worried for them?”

“Of course.” Liadan met his gaze, her brows furrowing. “Shouldn’t I be?”

He raised his brows, his eyes betraying nothing. “That is a fair question. Should you? What do you think?”

“Is this going to be another one of your philosophical discussions? I think you would receive much better replies from Lissa.”

Solas grinned. “Why _are_ you so averse to thoughtful questions? You appear to distance yourself, and yet it is obvious you care deeply for those around you.”

She sighed and turned her gaze away. “I am not averse to them. I just do not see the point in asking them _or_ answering them.” The rain pattered around them, but despite all the rainfall, the air was still unbearably muggy. “Yes, I am worried about them. They trust Lissa and me; the least I could do is care about their well-being.”

“I suppose it is only natural for the First of any clan to be accustomed to caring for those around her.” He gave a thoughtful pause, and a deliberate one, she noted. Then he inclined his head just so, and softened his gaze a bit. “Or did I perhaps guess incorrectly?”

Working to keep her expression from tightening, Liadan scoffed. “There is a bit of a difference between choosing to accept a mantle, and having a mantle dropped on top of your head.” She looked in his direction, pausing at the kind curiosity in his eyes. _I guess he isn’t always an ass._ _That would be exhausting._ “But, yes. It is something I am used to _—_ worrying about people, I mean.”

He nodded, and something of an understanding passed over his features. “You do it well.” His grey flickered with amusement. “Worrying, I mean.”

“You like to play with words.” She held his gaze, not minding the slow smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You spend a lot of time saying clever things. I cannot help but wonder if you sound half as clever in your head.”

He laughed, and it was a rare, genuine thing. “I think I save the most clever things for myself. I do enjoy hearing myself speak, after all.” He quirked one brow in a high arch. “But I do it well.”

“I have no idea how you can breathe with your head so high up in the sky.” Liadan shook her head again, ignoring the cold damp of her hair as it clung to her forehead and cheeks. “The air must be so thin with your ego resting at the tops of mountains.”

“How odd,” he mused with a hum and a crooked grin. “Just yesterday I was accused of having my head someplace else. Or have you forgotten your earlier complaint?”

She bit back a chuckle, grinning up at him. “Oh, I am a staunch believer that you could still firmly have your head up your ass, and also think too highly of yourself. In fact, I think the two go rather well together. Hand in hand, you might say.”

“And when you are not making clever observations, or having a new responsibility ‘dropped on your head,’ what is it you wish you could do?” The sarcasm in his tone and expression had warmed, and he seemed genuinely interested.

Blinking several times, she cocked her head and considered the question. “What do I wish I could do?” She tucked her arms against her stomach, leaning gingerly against the rough stones behind them. “I guess . . . if we were talking about hypotheticals,” she cast another curious glance at him, “I would probably still be with my clan, hunting and protecting my people. Eventually I would become the Keeper and take over the responsibility of Clan Lavellan.”

The warmth in his gaze was replaced with a sudden distance, sharpening with gravity. “And, should protecting the people bring upon you their hatred and distrust, would you still do it?”

“The people? You mean ou-my people?” Her eyes narrowed slightly as she tried to understand. “I . . . do not know. I have never considered that doing my duty would cause something like that to happen.”

His gaze held hers, seeming to weigh something behind those grey orbs before he turned his attention forward and nodded. “It seems our companions have arrived.”

Liadan studied his profile for a long moment, curious to the sudden shift in mood and discussion, but she did not press for answers. _There is far too much about you I don't understand._ She pushed away from the rocks and rolled her shoulders, nodding once before moving silently toward the end of the path. “I hope this Widris is in a good mood. We'll have enough demons to worry about when we reach the Rift.”

He stood, anchoring himself with his staff as a walking stick. “At any rate, I am curious to see how the testing of your mark will fair. No doubt we will learn something of its potential.” He turned, that bright sparkle returning his eyes. “And perhaps yours.”

  


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In (belated) honor of AsTheDayDies' birthday!

**Chapter Fifteen**

 

 _“As king-fishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;  
__As tumbled over rim in roundy wells  
__Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's  
__Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;  
__Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:  
__Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;  
__Selves_ _—_ _goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,  
__Crying What I do is me: for that I came.”_

 

 _—_ _Gerard Manley Hopkins_

They regrouped on an outcropping of stones, one of the few elevated areas they had found. The rocks were slippery and covered in squishy moss, and it took considerable effort to remain securely balanced. The rain had stopped, but the overhanging branches continued to drip, and the humid air ensured that they had not dried out at all. Her clothes started to stink, but it was hard to tell from the dank, acrid smells of the rotting dead and scummy swamp. Another stinging fly bit the back of her neck, and she slapped it away reflexively.

“There,” Varric noted with narrowed eyes. “There seems to be a castle of some sort. It’s probably where the Avvar are holed up.”

“You mean the one with all the undead swarming around it?” Cassandra added in disgust.

“Yep. You know, I’m starting to wish we gotten assigned to the crazy apostate.”

“We are wasting time,” Vivienne added curtly, still standing straight and serene even in the light drizzle that started again. “Our efforts will be wasted on the undead. We should cut straight through to the castle and address the Avvar directly.”

Lissa leaned forward carefully, narrowing her eyes as the rain blurred her vision. “So, cut across the swamp, run through the undead, and run directly toward the Avvar who wishes to challenge me?” She shrugged, shaking her head. “I think the worst part is that it seems the best of our options.”

The comrades clamored down the outcropping and readied their weapons.

“Well, no time like the present,” Varric quipped, darting out to take point.

Cassandra easily overtook his short stride, and soon the group was cutting a path against the swamp. Undead shambled toward them, swinging their slogging, dripping limbs and hacking away at them with whatever weapons had been left at the bottom of the lake. Lissa raised her staff, deflecting an arrow with a sudden shield of ice. Vivienne cut off the zombies with a blazing wall of fire at their rear, allowing them to rush inside the damp keep.

As soon as they passed the doorway, the sound of arrows glancing off the stone and cold metal of Cassandra’s shield greeted them.

“This is perhaps not the best place to be,” Vivienne added, ducking near the stone and casting another wall of fire to break their line of sight. Still, the arrows rained down, the archers hoping for a lucky shot.

“The zombies keep coming!” Cassandra shouted, cutting another in half as two more crowded the warrior. “We need to find a way to close the gate!”

One of Varric bolts stuck into the deteriorated head of a nearby zombie with a squelch. “And trap us in with the Avvar?”

“I’ll take my chances!” Lissa insisted, blocking the oncoming horde with a wall of ice. “At least when I hit them, they stay dead!”

The group turned in, the mages raining down fire and lightning on the Avvar as the warrior and rogue cut around to attack on the flanks. Soon, the bridge was emptied, Avvar corpses littering the planks.

Soon, Varric had spotted a gate mechanism, and with quick teamwork, the door was shut, cutting off the stream of undead as well as closing off their only escape.

“Now let us see if we can locate our missing soldiers.” Lissa swiped at the rain that clung to her forehead. “I’d prefer if we can negotiate peacefully.”

Varric chuckled, wiping down the track of his bow. “So we’ll just walk up, say, ‘Excuse me, sir, but now that we’ve trapped ourselves in your camp, we’d really like to settle this with words?’” He shook his head, slick tendrils of wet, matted hair swinging side to side.

“I intend to try,” she insisted, retying her braid and fitting the dirty curls into what order her cold, wet fingers could manage. “What good would it do us to kill them all before we learn what happened to our men?”

Varric shrugged. “Point taken.”

“It seems we will not have to search.” Cassandra drew her sword, planting her feet in a ready stance as a nearby gate clattered and clanked as it raised. Beyond the open archway loomed a tall silhouette, great curved horns curling from his helm and a massive hammer gripped in his meaty hands. Surrounding him were several Avvar warriors, perched for battle and covered in what appeared to varying shades of mud and clay.

“Herald of Andraste!” the voice bellowed, and Lissa felt her knees buckle at the sound. “You shall face me! I am the Hand of Korth himself, and I claim your corpse for my glory.”

“I take it that means negotiations are off?” Varric quipped under his breath.

Lissa readied her staff, calling out, “I am here to negotiate peacefully for the safe return of ou— _Ow!”_ An arrow grazed her arm, tearing through cloth and slicing a thin line that slowly beaded with pearls of blood. Lissa growled, narrowing her eyes on the incoming brute. “ _Now_ negotiations are off.”

As Cassandra began a direct charge towards the nearing group of wildmen, Lissa coated their group in a barrier. Vivian already had flames belching from her staff, tearing a hot path into the courtyard. The ball of fire broke against the brute’s armor, but he still flinched, an observation that must not have gone unnoticed by the Grand Enchantress; she called in more fire, hemming in the giant warrior with a wall of flames as Varric’s arrows tested his armor.

From her right, a nimble Avaar woman, seemingly naked from the waste up except for oddly textured paint, lunged from the corner, her blade a flash of silver in the corner of Lissa’s eyes. Lissa whirled, landing a lucky hit on the assailant’s shoulder and parrying the blow. With a thought, the woman became encapsulated in ice, the sharp crystals crawling over her skin with sharp, thin sounds. Stuck tight, she was a too easy target. A single bolt from Varric’s crossbow punched through the ice and pierced her heart. Beneath the surface, a deep red slowly bloomed.

“You will die, Herald!” The ‘Hand of Korth’ roared, swinging his hammer in a deadly arc. It chilled her blood to watch as Cassandra dodged the swings, and get even neared. “Behind you!” Lissa called out to the warrior, as one of the smaller Avaar men seemed to appear out of thin, a pair of daggers aim for her back.

Mid-lunge, the man fell slump, an arrow stuck in his throat.

“You can thank me for that later, Seeker,” Varric added, smug grin on his face.

Cassandra did not humor with a reply, her attention too focused on the behemoth before her.

“Your aim is good and well, darling, but perhaps if you could do that on the big one?” Vivienne suggested, her tone lofty and her expression fierce as she shot out small bursts of flame from her staff. Lissa could feel her mana slowly building, no doubt for a more powerful spell.

“I can keep him still,” Lissa added, “at least long enough to land several good hits.”

“Say the word, Herald,” Varric said.

Lissa nodded, and Varric bent his head to Bianca, leveling his aim on him. Lissa could feel Vivienne’s energy rush to the surface, awaiting her command.

“Now!” Staff outstretched, Lissa arced a terrible bolt of lightning from her staff. It connected with his shoulder and shot out from his opposite foot. On the ground beneath him, a large rune, glowing with blue and purple, crackled and snapped as biting strands of lightning gripped him in place. He froze, body arced in pain, trembling as the electricity caused every muscle to contract.

Varric peppered him with bolts, each shot a bass thrum next to her. Vivienne’s magic came in a sudden, efficient burst of flame that swallowed him whole. As he stood there, trapped, writhing and burning, Cassandra wasted no time in ensuring the work was done. With a leap and a swing, the warrior’s voice shouting gutturally, she cut off his head, and it fell behind him. The spells stopped, leaving an eerie silence in their wake. Then, like a tree expertly cut, his body fell with a solid thud. Blood spewed from his neck in time with the last beats of his pulse, and the spurts were farther each time his corpse convulsed from the electricity. Lissa pressed her eyes shut and swallowed.

 _Such is war_.

She hated it.

A low, weak mew of a cry broke the strained silence. “Is . . . someone there?” After a pause, the voice grew bolder. “Help! Over here!”

“The prisoners!” Cassandra called, charging towards the rear. Lissa and the others followed, with Varric taking a spot just behind to guard their flank.

“Hello?” Cassandra called, spinning with her sword drawn as she searched for the voices.

“We’re here to help!” Lissa confirmed.

“Inquisition!” the voice called. A man’s voice, Lissa noted, weak and desperate. They found him holed up in a makeshift prison, badly bruised, one arm broken, and thrown together with six other soldiers, not all of them alive.

Lissa resisted the urge to cover her nose from the stench. She waved off an offending fly as she knelt next to the man as Varric worked the locks. “What happened?”

“Aha!” Varric mused. The gate swung open.

“They _—_ they ambushed us. Beat us half to death. They dragged us here. Tans and Mira died within the hour. Dunn he . . . he killed himself. ‘Better to end it on my terms,’ he said.”

“Shh, it’s all right,” Lissa soothed, ushering a healing spell over the more threatening wounds. “You can give the report after you are all well. We’ll handle the rest.”

 

 

They paused within the cover of the rocks and Liadan gave one last look around the small clearing, noting the mist that filled the space and the pale green flames that flickered here and there, gleaming off the edges of the damp stone. She could make out the form of the mage they had been hunting, her shoulders hunched as she bent over something, muttering to herself as she worked. Liadan look across the open space and nodded to her teammates before walking into the mist, her arms held loosely at her sides.

“Widris, my comrade and I have questions for you, if you would not mind.”

The woman flinched and turned, her eyes wide and hand clutching her staff as she whirled to face them. She made a plucking motion and Liadan paused, lifting her hands placatingly as she saw the sparks that whirled around the mage’s fingers.

“We are not here to harm you, we merely wish to speak—”

“You will not have me!” Widris cried, and slammed the butt of her staff into the ground, a half dozen fireballs arcing toward both Liadan and Solas.

Even as Liadan stepped back, sliding her weapons from their sheathes, she felt the cool spread of one of Solas’ barriers tickle over her skin, and she immediately shifted her weight, dashing forward and ignoring the shudder that went down her spine. “Now, Sera! Before she summons any demons!”

There was the hiss of an arrow, and Liadan heard the mage cry out in pain, just as the first of the fireballs struck the barrier. Smoke rose from the blue tint over her abdomen, but Liadan felt nothing more than a passing warmth, and she pressed forward. Ducking beneath two more fireballs, she felt another connect with her thigh, the barrier and the water on her clothes letting out a soft hiss before she was in reach of Widris. And as the woman’s eyes narrowed in fury, her free hand clenched around an arrow shaft jutting from her shoulder, Liadan side-stepped an awkward swipe of her staff, and cut a deep track along Widris’ side.

She caught a glimpse of a sickly green wash of energy, and knew that her attack had not cut as deeply as she hoped, and as she slid on the slick grass, she knew the mage had cast her own barrier, as well. A shrill wail filled the vale, and Liadan gritted her teeth as she saw the familiar forms of two wraiths appear in the darkness between her and both Blackwall and Sera. “Solas!” she shouted even as she moved forward and lifted her blades for another attack.

“I am aware,” he answered over the hiss of Widris’ spells dissipating against his barrier.

“We will take care of the demons, my lady.” Blackwall lifted his shield in time to block a waith’s claws, the sound skittering off the metal and ringing into the darkness.

Liadan shook her head as one dagger bounced off Widris’ barrier, and succeeded in only nicking the wooden stave of the mage as she whirled to face her. The woman’s eyes were wild, dark with anger and fear, and as she summoned more mana to her, Liadan ducked and lashed out, sweeping Widris’ legs out from underneath her. As the mage fell back, energy swirling in an unknown spell, Liadan felt a sudden pulse in her marked hand.

“You will not have me!” the mage shouted again, thrusting her staff forward, the ornamental topping aimed for Liadan’s gut.

Before Liadan could retaliate, a virid green portal opened between her and Widris, and Solas came rushing through. His weight bore Liadan backward to the soaked and muddy ground, and for a moment, a blinding light shot across her vision. The breath was knocked from her lungs as she landed on her back and Solas then landed atop her, and she could smell the acrid stench of cloth and fur burning.

“Damn mage,” she said through gritted teeth, her chest aching even as she worked to help Solas rise. Brief tendrils of smoke rose from his back and shoulder, quickly dampened by the continuing rain, and as he hissed and rose to one knee, she rolled out from beneath him and stood.

Widris was nowhere to be seen and Liadan could see Blackwall and Sera still fighting with the summoned demons. At least the other elf was enjoying herself, if the sound of her wild laughter was any inclination. With another glance around the vale, Liadan bent beside Solas who still knelt on the sodden ground. “I still had my barrier,” she said as she sheathed one sword and pressed her hand to his lower back, scanning the damage that had been done. Luckily, Solas’ barrier had still been in place, too, and though one shoulder was completely red and burnt, she knew the damage could have been far worse.

“You cannot be so naïve.” He drew in a short breath, brow furrowing as his skin puckered and pulled.

She blinked against the rain falling into her eyes, scoffing to herself before she grinned as she caught a glimpse of Widris fleeing her small tent. “Stay here,” she ordered and rose to her feet. “And do not argue.”

Blackwall let out a bellowing shout as he cut down the last demon, its shriek echoing in among the slick walls before it faded into flickering motes of light and ash. Immediately, Sera turned her attention to the fleeing mage, and she loosed an arrow, giggling happily as Widris cried out in pain and wavered with one wounded leg. Before Widris could change directions or cast another spell, Liadan cocked her arm back and then threw her dagger, end over end, toward the mage’s back. Widris fell without a sound.

“What’s wrong with Baldy?” Sera jogged forward, nudging Widris’ motionless body with one foot and then picking through her pockets.

Ignoring the question, Liadan turned and knelt beside Solas once more, one hand coming to rest just below the burnt material of his tunic, the other bracing against his chest as she eased him into a sitting position. She looked at Solas’ face before shifting her gaze to the blistering skin of his shoulder, and with a sigh, she reached for one of the potions in her pouch.

“You need not waste it.” Solas gave her a self-deprecating smile, his eyes dark with frustration and pain. “Give me a moment and I will heal it myself.”

With a slightly heavier sigh, she sat back on her heels, listening as Blackwall circled the vale, checking for any further danger, and as Sera hummed to herself as she pocketed anything she deemed valuable from Widris’ corpse. Liadan watched as Solas gradually brought his unwounded hand to his shoulder, his mana humming before a soft light bloomed beneath his palm. “Why did you do it?” she asked softly, watching as some of the blisters began to fade. “I knew she was going to attack; you did not have to put yourself in danger to help me.”

“We cannot risk your life over something so small.” His voice was cool and even, though his furrowed brows betrayed his injury. “Not when you hold half the mark.”

“Your life is just as important. After all, if it were not for you, Lissa and I would be dead.” Her hands rested on her knees, though after a moment, she reached out and plucked at one singed bit of his sleeve. “Though I will not mourn your tunic. And neither will the Madame.”

He did not seem amused, though the line of his brow softened. “It has served me well enough. When I get back to camp, I’ll be sure to patch it immediately so as not to bruise the Enchanter’s sensitive eyes.”

“If we can find armor to fit me, I think we can find you something.” She bent her head, gauging his expression as he worked. “Maybe something that can hold up to electricity a little better, hmm?”

Solas paused, for just a moment, and Liadan took note of the expression that drew at his brows, drawing tight the scar on his forehead. The light faded from his palm and she turned her gaze to the sight of his still-pinkened skin, before reaching for his burnt hand and drawing it toward herself. Before he could utter a complaint, she removed some of the herbs from another pouch on her belt, and carefully applied a poultice to his cracked, red palm.

She could feel his gaze on her, but she did not press the issue. It was not the first time Solas had faltered at the concern of another, and though she was not so kind as Lissa, she knew enough to guess that Solas was quite used to keeping others at a distance. It was a trait, it seemed, they shared in common.

“There we are,” she murmured as she finished wrapping his hand in a temporary bandage. She gave him a rueful smile as she looked up to meet his gaze again. “It should do, at least until we reunite with the others and someone more talented than I can take a look.”

“I feel the presence of another artifact,” he murmured, the lines of his face gradually softening. “We must find it before we move to join the others.”

-

It was still raining as they trudged their way back to where they had made plans to meet with Lissa and the rest. Little had been said since they left the vale where they had killed Widris, and Liadan was glad for the chance to think. They had learned very little from Widris’ last journal, and there had been nothing at her camp aside from the artifact. All in all, she would have counted the trip a total waste, but Solas had been insistent on activating the orb.

 _When we get back to Haven, I’m going to press him further about these so called artifacts. If they’re so important for strengthening the Veil, why has no one else bothered to activate them?_ She tugged at the hood of her cloak, the sodden material doing nothing to keep the rain from her face. _Maybe Lissa will understand. All these Fade-touched things make no sense to me._

They came upon a flickering fire, the light breaking through the heavy mist in the distance. The silhouette of the rest of their company hunkered around the heat. A scout met them first, with a nod and a grin. It was slightly infuriating how he straightened more as they passed, nodding with respect and reverence, but it was getting less so as time went by.

“Well, well, look who the druffalo dragged back in,” Varric greeted with a crooked grin, shrewd eyes looking them over. “At least we weren’t the only ones to have fun.”

Lissa’s gaze swept over them with relief, finally settling on Liadan with a grin. “Good to see you back. Is anyone hurt?”

Before anyone else could answer, Liadan nodded in Solas’ direction. “He will try to tell you that he is fine, but do not believe him.”

“Yeah, you shoulda seen him,” Sera added, quickly plopping herself beside Varric and tugging off her waterlogged shoes. “Jumped in front of a bolt of lightning, just to save his fellow elf.”

Lissa scowled momentarily, studying the singed hole in his tunic with disapproval before shaking her head. “Well, which elf was it, Sera? I doubt you’d be complaining if he stepped in front of it to stop that from hitting you in the arse.”

“Nope!” she announced. “Not me. Baldy wouldn’t have bothered if it was me.”

Solas levelled an irritated gaze on her, but otherwise responded coolly: “Each of us has something to offer, even if it is . . . harder to determine in some cases.”

Liadan watched the corner of Lissa’s lip pull to one side. “Are there any other mysterious injuries I should know about?” She crossed her arms, mothering over them in her own way.

“Beardy got a splinter!” Sera croaked before breaking into a series of snorts and laughs.

Blackwall set his sword and shield aside in the driest place he could find, then joined both Sera and Varric, holding his palms out toward the fire. “Miss Lavellan already graciously aided me with that.”

“No serious injuries,” Liadan added, circling the fire until she came to Cassandra’s side, gingerly lowering herself onto the damp log and removing her cloak. “Though, it looks as though you all ran into your own set of troubles.”

Cassandra ran her whetstone down the length of her blade and made a sound in the back of her throat. “That is putting it mildly.”

Lissa doled out soup into a pair of bowls and handed one each to Blackwall and Sera, who spared no time tucking into the thick slop. With two more bowls in hand, she neared her and Solas.

“Here you are,” Lissa offered to her, trying to discreetly spy for any injuries, but Liadan could see the concern in her golden gaze before the mage quickly looked away. Finally, she bent near to Solas, bowl outstretched. “I’m certain you’re capable of healing that yourself,” she said with a grin. “So I have to wonder why you haven’t yet?”

Pouncing at the opportunity, Liadan lowered the spoon from her lips. “Because we found another artifact and he _insisted_ we turn it on.”

“Is that so?” Lissa asked, meeting his eyes with an insistent question.

“The threat the tearing veil poses a greater threat than a scar.” He chuckled, reaching for the bowl with his other arm.

“I don’t think that was my point. That artifact isn’t going anywhere. You were the only mage with them! What if _—_ ” Lissa lowered her voice, shaking her head. “Solas, if someone with you were to get hurt, I was counting on you being there, able to help. Why not tend your injuries, regroup, and activate it with the rest of us?”

Liadan leaned back, quietly eating her soup and watching as Solas explained his decision. Her gaze flickered over each of their party members, pausing for a moment on the Lady Enchanter, who still managed to look impeccable, even in this god-awful weather. As Lissa and Solas continued talking, Liadan finished her soup and ladled out another serving for herself, listening closely to Solas’ response. He spoke softly, but firmly, of the importance of strengthening the Veil at every turn, especially with rifts still being discovered. _The less rifts we have to close, the less danger we put ourselves in. Is he really that concerned about us, or is there something he’s not saying?_

Lissa sighed, lowering herself next to him as she ignored her own bowl of soup. “At least let me fix this up.” A faint blue light shone from the palms of her hands as she hovered them over the skin and Liadan watched with interest. New pink skin was quickly in its place. Much better results than her poultice.

“Thank you.”

Lissa huffed, but grinned. “Just promise me that I can trust you to take care of them when I’m not there. I can’t really do much, but I _am_ good at healing spells. If someone gets hurt, and I’m not there, I’m counting on _you_.” She grinned, breaking up the heaviness of the conversation with a smirk. “Or do you expect Madame to be doting?”

“Now that would be an interesting turn of events,” Varric said with a chuckle.

Watching as the tension slowly ebbed from his frame as the light began to fade from Lissa’s hands, Liadan thoughtfully finished her last bite of soup. As Solas straightened and finally began to eat, he paused between bites to say: “You’ve put a great deal of faith in a, what was is Cassandra called me? A homeless apostate?”

“I think it was ‘hobo apostate,’ Chuckles,” Varric added before slurping from his spoon.

Lissa hid a smile, finishing the work on his shoulder. “Perhaps. But it seems we have little choice. We all need to work together.”

“I will endeavor not to disappoint.”


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**  


 

_“A fool thinks himself to be wise,_

_but a wise man knows himself to be a fool.”_

 

_—William Shakespeare_

They had left the stench and sodden ground of the Fallow Mire more than two days past, though the smell of brackish water and rotted flesh seemed to permeate their clothes and cling to their skin. Their scouts remained behind, of course, and Lissa felt bad for leaving them in such conditions. But she had mentioned sending more supplies and a few more men to stable their diminished numbers, and Liadan had agreed it would be best. The scouts needed the care and encouragement, and Lissa was all too willing to provide what she could.

Now they traveled without pause back toward Haven, and she found herself looking forward to the cold air and biting wind. If nothing else, it would not smell like decomposing corpses.

As the sun began to sink toward the distant mountains on the end of their third day, Lissa heard Liadan quietly speaking with Blackwall. It was an amusing contrast to see the slender woman working alongside the gruff Warden, the two working together to set the pegs for their individual tents, and Lissa was more than happy to listen to them talk as she set up the wood for their campfire. Blackwall paused in hammering the last of them, his face slightly flushed from the effort, and asked: “Then, the markings on your face, they are different from others in your clan?”

“Yes.” Liadan adjusted her grip on the wooden stake and then sat back on her heels when another well placed blow had hammered it firmly into the ground. “Each Dalish can choose the _valasslin_ he desires, as well as the color of the markings when he is at last old enough to complete the coming of age ceremony. As each child nears his coming of age, he begins the process of choosing the god he wishes to honor, and collects the necessities for his _valasslin._ ”

 _Oh, how interesting_. Lissa had not realized there was such a process behind their markings, although it made sense as soon as she heard it. The few Dalish mages that had been wrangled into the fold of the Circle had been very opposed in discussing anything of their clans, even if her curiosity was innocent enough. She tried to imagine it now in her head, a whole clan of people who would be rooting for you, supporting you as you went through a ritual hundreds of years in the making. It must be nice to carry on something of meaning, and to have it on your person as a constant reminder of the people that supported you. From what she saw of Liadan’s markings, it did not appear to be a process without pain, but perhaps it was that bond that made it worth it.

Blackwall swiped at his forehead, allowing the head of the hammer to rest near his boot. “I admit: I did not know there was so much forethought, though I suppose it makes sense. The Dalish seem rather religious.”

With a nod, Liadan rose to her feet and pushed loose strands of hair back from her face. “I do not think it is something our people speak of when we are with humans. Forgive me, but it does not seem like a topic most people would have interest in.”

“Hmm.” He nodded politely. “Well, I have not had the chance to speak with many Dalish, despite the amount of time and distance I travel. Most of your people seem wary of a Warden.”

She chuckled. “I would not take it to heart.”

“The Dalish are wary of any that do not think as they do, Blackwall,” Solas added, suddenly interested in their conversation. “Stray too near one of their camps, and even a shared appearance will not save you from their prejudice.”

Lissa straightened, watching as Solas threw the sharp remark before he casually passed by, staff in hand like a walking stick, his gaze fixed beyond them. She turned her gaze back to Liadan, wondering if the rogue would respond. But Liadan did nothing more than blink several times, her gaze following Solas as he left. Her pale eyes narrowed for a moment, fingers drumming rapidly against her thigh before she turned her face away and looked up to Blackwall once more.

“Most people are wary these days, I have found, of those who are different from them.” She spoke softly, but her voice carried, and Lissa swore she could hear steel in her tone.

Sera spoke from somewhere beside Lissa. “So these . . . valiant-thingies. ‘S not just on your face, innit?”

“Mm, no. _Valasslin_ can be placed upon other parts of the body, though you will always find it on one’s face.”

 _Then why did Liadan choose to have her valasslin over more of her body? What was the significance to that?_ she thought to ask, but it might be too telling. Lissa made a mental note to ask her later in private.

A sly look crossed Sera’s face and she laughed as she shifted to make room for Varric. “So what about you, Herald? Got some fancy marks elsewhere?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Liadan answered flippantly, though Lissa was glad to see the tension leave her face. “But in either case, receiving one’s _valasslin_ is not a simple or pleasant task. The method is both methodical and painful.”

Lissa straightened a bit, leaning in toward them and trying to put Solas’ stern expression from her mind. “What is the process like? Why is it painful?”

Glancing in her direction, the rogue pursed her lips, perhaps considering whether or not she wanted to answer. She was rather close-lipped about some things, after all, and Lissa would not be surprised if Liadan did not choose to answer. But as the elf opened her mouth to reply, Lissa found herself equally excited and happy that her fellow mark-bearer had decided to share more of herself and her culture. “When a child nears his coming of age, he gathers the materials necessary; this can include certain herbs or berries, even barks. I even know of one clan that uses the dye made from certain sea shells for their markings. On the eve of his name-day, he stands before the clan and announces the god he wishes to honor. It is something the child and the Elder agree upon, and then the ceremony begins.”

Liadan removed the belt that held her weapons, then shrugged out of her coat, still explaining the process and how the dye was formed from boiling the gathered elements and adding other ingredients at appropriate times. As she sat near the fire Lissa had made, and spoke of the actual process of receiving the _valasslin,_ Lissa felt her stomach clench. “It is considered weakness to cry out or to faint when receiving the marks of your patron,” Liadan said, tracing one slender line beneath her eye. “But if the child can remain strong as the needles leave their permanent mark, upon the last prick, he is then considered an adult, and works to the betterment of his clan in honor to his patron.” A small smile crossed her lips as she let her hand fall to her lap. “I often wonder which god my sister will choose to honor.”

Lissa stirred the soup, ignoring the hungry rumble of her stomach, and forced a swallow. “Is she not yet old enough to choose? Or is it a set age when one chooses their marks?” She lifted the spoon and blew before taking a cautious sip. If nothing else, she was grateful for an interesting topic; it helped to make up for the bland food.

“She is not old enough, and she will not be for another,” she tilted her head and thought for a moment, “seven years.”

As Lissa worked her jaw over a particularly tough chunk of meat and considered her next question, she swallowed before asking: “What determines when you’re ready to receive your mark?”

“A child can begin preparing for his _valasslin_ when he nears his eighteenth birthday. Since the decision is made by each child, if he is not prepared at that age, he can choose to wait.” Turning her own bowl over in her hands, she met Lissa’s gaze. “That does not happen very often though. The only other time is if the clan’s Keeper decides the child is not ready.”

Lissa nodded thoughtfully. She had a dozen more questions, and surely more would come after she got more answers, but she did not wish to press on Liadan’s generosity anymore. Well, at least not much more. _Just one more question,_ Lissa promised herself. “How did the tradition start? It must have been very important to have been passed down for so long.” At the edge of the fire, a sudden shift in the energies around her drew her attention. Solas sat, stiff and only half turned toward their conversation, but it was obvious in the tilt of his head that he was listening. Even Cassandra, who had joined them only for supper, seemed intrigued by the discussion.

“ _Valasslin_ is meant to signify how our people have sworn to never surrender again, whether it is our freedoms or our beliefs.” Liadan hummed and shifted the bowl in her hands, her gaze downcast. “Some consider it a physical way of showing that we have separated ourselves from the humans, and even the elves who are in the alienages. But I think it is a little different for each person.”

“Wow,” Lissa mused. “That’s . . . really amazing. I’d be lying if I were to say that I’m not a bit envious. It seems like it would be an instant commonality were you to meet with someone from another clan, a point of unity even among complete strangers. I’m sure it’s a bit romanticized,” Lissa paused with a chuckle, “but it would be nice to have a reminder of my part in a greater whole.”

“More than a bit romanticized,” Solas muttered across the way. “As strongly as they cling to a twisted tradition, one would think it would bring some sort of unity among their scattered clans. But relationships between Dalish can be as strained and as violent as any other people group they thoughtlessly abhor.”

Liadan straightened and held up her hand at Lissa’s offer to fill her bowl. “If you have something to say, Solas, then by all means, join us. I would love to hear your thoughts on how _you_ think our traditions came to be.”

His brows arched, and he closed his eyes in thought. Lissa could feel a sudden dry sharpness in the air as his mana shifted. “Now that would be a true surprise,” he started. “The Dalish wish to hear a hurtful truth? History, as it turns out, is not so kind to your traditions as you might think. I would not tarnish something you hold so tightly.”

“Oh?” With a glance around the fire and the uncomfortable expressions on everyone’s faces (except Sera, who looked almost too pleased at the turn of events), Liadan pursed her lips and set aside her still empty bowl. “I think you are perfectly comfortable muttering about it where you think no one else can call you on it. If you will not tell me when I ask you, then please, keep your thoughts to yourself in the future.”

Lissa’s mouth suddenly dried, and her eyes darted from Liadan’s face to Solas’ as the elven mage suddenly stood, his rising anger obvious. She quickly cleared her throat, watching as Solas’ shoulders went even stiffer at the sound, and after a tense moment, he sat back down and remained silent. “Blackwall,” she said quickly. “I wanted to check on the requisition list before tomorrow. Would you mind handling that for me?”

The Warden nodded with more energy than was perhaps necessary, and shot her a quick look of relief. “As you wish, my Lady. Seeker,” he started as he stood, “didn’t you want to take a look at my whetstone? I’d be happy to lend it to you. It’s the best this side of the Frostbacks.”

Cassandra looked a bit stunned, but nonetheless seemed grateful for the out. “My sword is in need of some care.” She looked over shoulder, eyes resting on Varric.

He frowned. “Last time I checked, me and Bianca had everything taken care of, Seeker.”

“Varric,” she spat, nose wrinkling in her scowl.

“All right, all right.” The dwarf rose with a grumble, tucking Bianca against his shoulder as he paused before the fire, his gaze darting between the remaining three. “Well, I suppose I should say good-night. Come along, Sera. Looks like we gotta go just when things were getting interesting.”

The elf groaned and rolled her eyes, but after a little more prodding, she stood, and moved to join the others. The quartet retreated from the fire until Lissa could not make out their silhouettes in the dark, and only once it was silent, did Liadan finally begin to eat. Lissa reached for her soup again, cautiously tending to it as the tension in the silence grew.

Once she finished eating, Liadan began sharpening one of her short swords, using a small stone and smooth strokes to slide down the edge of the blade. _Shhnk. Shhnk. Shhnk._ Again and again, it was the only sound to interrupt the crackle of the fire, and though she was silent, her posture spoke volumes. Her jaw was set, her eyes sharply intent on her task, and her back was as rigid as the blade she worked to sharpen.

Lissa swallowed, wondering when the tension would reach the surface and break. Truthfully, she had only an inkling as to what had bothered Liadan, and by now, she knew better than to probe. She cast a few glances in the direction of her friend, and offered a small smile the one time their eyes met, but still, her fellow mark-bearer remained silent.

At last, Solas seemed to gather his frustration, at least a little, and he stretched out both hands toward the fire to warm himself. Liadan raised her eyes to him, the edge in her pale green gaze sharpening, but Solas seemed not to notice, or chose not to.

“So then, Solas,” she started, with too much warmth injected into her voice, “if everything I know is indeed wrong, then, what do you know to be true of our people’s history?”

He did not conceal how he clenched his jaw, neither did he attempt to hide the tilting of his brows or narrowing of his eyes. “Our people?” he rebutted, straightening as he folded his hands over his knees. “I find that term is used rather casually among the Dalish. They do not even grasp that to which they refer.”

Liadan raised a brow, pointedly not sheathing her weapon. Perhaps it was a show of power? Or maybe it was a comfort to have in her hands. Lissa was not sure, but either way, it was unsettling.

“Oh, and _you_ do? You claim to have lived by yourself, and yet you happen to know all knowledge the Dalish possess?” She scoffed in the back of her throat. “Your play at being pious runs deeper than I thought.”

“I have travelled the Fade while they sit among their clans, mangling stories and clinging to fragments. I have seen things they have not.”

“They?” Liadan’s eyes narrowed further. “Do you not mean to say _me?_ I am one of those people you so snidely speak of: I sat among my family and I told those same stories to my sister and the other children as they learned to walk and speak. I cling to those pieces of our past and I hold them close to my heart so that I may one day teach them to my own children and the rest of my clan. It is all I know and I _wish_ I knew more. And you, you claim to be so knowledgeable, but not once have you deigned to speak with me about what you have learned.”

The silence was only broken by the crackling of the fire, and Lissa lowered her gaze as the two elves stared at one another. _Perhaps I should go?_

Solas muttered something in the elven tongue and Liadan let out a sharp bark of laughter, full of scorn and something that sounded like pain. “What did the Dalish even _do_ to you?” she asked incredulously. “You sit there, wounded, at everything I try to offer. I make mention of our people — for despite your rejections, you _are_ an elf—and you sneer when I speak of our customs as though we were some filthy vagabonds below even the dignity of your attention. Every time I try to give you a chance to—” She cut herself, schooling her expression into something far more neutral, and shook her head as she pocketed the whetstone.

“You say the Dalish have too much pride to learn?” she asked as she smoothly rose to her feet and took her belt and sheathes. “You would do well to remember your own name, _ghi’lan_.” Her eyes gleamed, sharp and bright with both anger and hurt, and then she turned, making silent steps back to the tent she and Lissa shared.

Lissa swallowed, her tongue clinging to her now dry palette. Solas sat and stared at the fire as if it would divine a great mystery to him. She settled back against the log, clearing her throat before daring to break the silence with speech. “What did she mean by ‘your name?’”

Perhaps it was a trick of the firelight, but she thought she saw a heavy sadness cloud his eyes. “My name, Solas. It means ‘pride.’”

“Ah. I see.” An uncomfortable silence settled again, the pop of the fire reminding her of the strain between her two comrades. She wavered on whether or not to speak; perhaps she could change the subject? But she was so _curious_. Clearing her throat, she glanced at him again, trying to gauge his mood. “Forgive me if I’m prying, but why do you disagree so vehemently with the Dalish folktales? Is there truly harm in it?”

His eyes narrowed, the flame flickering in them clearly. “Is there not a danger in half-truths? They cling to broken pieces of the past, and jumble them together into a misshapen retelling. And when someone would offer them guidance, they laugh, at best.” He raised his gaze to meet hers. “I have not become this skilled at magic without practice.”

She stared at the fire, watching the logs and twigs turn bright until they fell away into ash swallowed by flame. “They attacked you?”

“Some,” he conceded, “but not all. No, many of them simply laughed me out of their camps, casting stones and twigs and heartless words.”

“I am sorry.”

“Why?” he questioned, perhaps a bit more sharply than he intended. “It is not your fault.”

“No, it isn’t. But can I not be grieved when I see wrong? It hurts to see you two so at odds. You know she tries to reach out, don’t you? I can't imagine how difficult it is to be away from her peop—other elves. You do not have to spurn her when she asks.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Perhaps I have been too hard on her.”

Lissa smiled and shook her head. “I think perhaps your experiences with many Dalish clans have insisted that it must be so with each individual Dalish.” She shifted her feet in the dried leaves, coaxing a crunching rustle from beneath her boots before she looked on him with kindness. Her only goal was to see two of her friends get along. “You’re too quick to assume you already know how she will act,” she concluded, her voice soft and her gaze warm. “Why decide her reactions for her? She’s surprised you before, yes?”

Solas sat in silence, peering into the fire. She watched as the light hardened the sharp angles of his face, the firm line of his jaw. The warm light played a teasing game with the freckles that dotted the skin beneath his eyes and across his nose; sometimes they were there, and then the fire danced and they blinked away like twinkling stars. The corners of his nose twitched just so, and she knew he was at least deeply considering her words.

“Would you judge an entire race on the actions of one individual?” she prodded when he remained silent.

His brows furrowed then. “Of course not.”

Lissa swallowed, making her tone as kind, but as insistent as she could. “Then why allow yourself to judge one person on the basis of many? You prize free will, protect it in theory, and yet in practice you negate individuality with your prejudice.”

“That is—” he made to reply quickly, and she wanted to shrink for the brief flash of anger in his eyes. Then he sighed. “That is not what I intended.” His shoulders rose and fell in a deliberate sigh. “Perhaps I am being narrow-minded. It is impossible, though, for a single example to negate the sins of a people.”

Lissa grinned. “Maybe. But it is each soul’s prerogative to try. Nothing can take away the wrongs done, and we shouldn’t pretend like your hurt did not happen. But if you don’t allow one person to be different than your expectations, then you’re rather creating your own demons, don’t you think?”

One corner of his lips pulled to the side, and as he replied, his gaze did not leave the dancing flames. “You make a strong case, one with perhaps more meaning than you intend.” He straightened, levelling an insistent, but kind look on her. “Very well. I will . . . try.”

She grinned and inclined her head in a little bow. “That’s all I ask.” She scooped up her bowl and spoon and stood, stretching out her legs and lower back. The evening had certainly put a bit of tension on her frame. “Goodnight, Solas.”

“Good night, Lissa.” He remained by the fire, and as she slipped in her tent, she caught him still staring into the fire, as she imagined he might do for some time.

-

The next day was spent mostly on horseback as they continued to Haven. Lissa’s back, thighs, and rear were tender and sore, and she was thankful when she finally slid from her saddle.

With a huff and a hunk of bread and butter, she half sat, half waddled into a spot next to one of the scout’s fires. After a dinner and breakfast of thick, nearly-burnt stew, a piece of not-stale bread and butter felt like a feast. She took a bite and sighed before holding the bread out toward the fire to soften it. _A bit of rabbit, and this wouldn’t be too unlike the meals I got used to after the fall of the Circles._

Their fireside gathering was smaller tonight. Cassandra was busy preparing reports for the War Table, and Varric was writing answers to what remained of the letters he had received before they left. Both Vivienne and Sera had retired early for the evening, ready to be back at Haven and in their own quarters, no doubt, and Blackwall had joined the scouts for the first watch. Only Solas sat opposite her, quietly picking at a heel of bread. He seemed too lost in thought to be bothered with discussion, and after all that had happened the night before, Lissa thought to give him the time to think.

Even as she considered finishing her food and retiring early, Liadan came, empty-handed of food, and sat down beside her. The scent of sage and leather caught Lissa by surprise, and she turned to look at her friend. Her white hair was tied back and clumped together in a wet tangle. Lissa gasped. “You got to bathe?” she asked enviously. “Oh, if my legs let me, I could go for a dip. Was it far?”

“If you do not mind dipping into that river we passed—” Liadan stretched out her legs, wiggling her bare toes toward the fire. “—then, by all means, give it a go.” She shot Lissa an amused glance. “But fair warning, it is quite cold.”

Lissa slumped a bit as she considered it. It would not be the first time she had bathed in a frigid river. But they would be back in Haven tomorrow, and there, at least, she could enjoy a hot bath in semi-privacy. “Well, perhaps I’ll endure the sweat and dirt one more day. It’s not as if I have to share a tent.” She laughed, nudging Liadan with her elbow.

“Thank the Creators for that,” Liadan shot back, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She glanced around the campfire, her gaze arrested by the glimpses she caught of the scouts doing rounds, and then she turned to Lissa again. “Want me to come keep watch?” she asked with a waggle of her brows.

Lissa’s throat tightened and her face grew warm. “L-Liadan!” she chided quietly but sharply. It was not the thought of it that bothered her, only that she would talk so openly about it with current _male_ company. She cleared her throat. “I appreciate the offer, but no thanks. Sometimes waiting for a things makes it even better. And I anticipate a private, hot bath tomorrow evening. My saddle-sore self can’t wait to slip beneath the hot water.” She sighed, closing her eyes and squishing the heat-softened roll in her hands before taking a bite. “Oh! I’ll carve you a heat rune before then. They’re so nice to drop in the bath.”

“Hmm. I might have to take you up on that, though the stream was moving too quickly for one.” Shifting on the log, Liadan sighed softly and gathered her weight before standing. “I think I will take a quick walk before bed. All this riding is making me uncomfortable, too.”

Suddenly, Solas spoke up, almost making Lissa jump as she had assumed he was planning to ignore them. “If I may ask,” he started softly, a tentative curiosity in his tone. “Why did you choose the markings of Mythal?”

Lissa finished the last of her food before she rubbed her hands over her arms. She was sure that Liadan would not answer this time, but hoping she would all the same. At last, Liadan took a deep breath and shifted her weight again, leaves crunching beneath her feet.

“Of all the gods, I felt I understood her best.” She hummed and shook her head. “Or rather . . . I did not wish to serve the flaming judgment of Elgar’nan, nor the tending ways of Ghila’nan. I had once considered Andruil, but my heart always leaned toward the idea of vengeance and justice for those who could not bring it about by their own hands. And, it seems, that it goes deeper than even my desire to protect and nurture my own clan.” Again, she shifted, and Lissa swore she saw the vibrant gleam of the rogue’s gaze for a moment, heavy and weighing. “Would you not agree?”

But Lissa could not decide if Liadan was asking for Solas’ answer, or her own.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

####  **Chapter Seventeen**

  


_“A fool thinks himself to be wise,  
_ _But a wise man knows himself to be a fool.”_

_—William Shakespeare_

 

  


The Inquisition was off to a valiant start, so far as those they helped were concerned. And yet, the Chantry continued to disown the actions of the so-called ‘Heralds,’ constantly seeking to snatch power for their own means. It was interesting to see how they reacted to seeing power slip from their grasp. More fascinating was how quickly this Inquisition seemed to obtain it, though ever subject to the watchful eyes of neighboring powers such as those of Orlais or Ferelden. And while critics were always present, they continued to press on with singular focus on closing the Breach.

It would remain up to him to keep it that way.  
  
Back at Haven, the trusted advisors met with the fated, young women on a daily basis, and on some days they met multiple times. With their resources and numbers growing along with their influence, it was time to make their assault on the Breach. For now, it seemed their greatest consideration was whom to approach for assistance: Templars or mages. It seemed an obvious choice to him, and he was certain to try and guide them to such whenever the topic was brought up, until one evening as he sat in his usual spot, sketching with nubs of charcoal.

Liadan skirted around the outer edges of Haven, her features strained, and the edges of her jaw set in a hard line. They had not talked much outside of Inquisition matters since they had returned from the Fallow Mire, but he was grateful that she had not remained upset with him for his hasty words. Lissa's advice, though originally unwanted, had done him a service. “I take it your advisors have yet to agree on a course of action?” he prodded gently, not letting his eyes leave the page.

“More like they do not care for Lissa’s and my decision.” She plopped down beside him, all efforts of silence or gracefulness gone in the face of her frustration. “They have been hounding us for an answer and when we finally decide on one, they say it is not good enough.”

“Oh?” He raised his chin, meeting her eyes with a questioning raise of his brow. “So you’ve reached a decision?” He did not close his sketchbook, not wanting to appear too eager.

With a huff, she reached for a dagger, but stopped. Her fingers reached instead for the pendant around her throat. “We _had_.”

He had seen her do this multiple times before, though he had yet to decipher just what was the cause behind the deliberate fidgeting. The pendant was made from white wood, carved into the styling of a wolf. Her fingers worried over the edges, some worn smooth. “What were you hoping for?” He gently closed the book, leaving the piece of charcoal between the pages to mark his place before he rubbed the blackened tips of his fingers over his tunic.

“We decided to do both.” Her pale gaze met his for a moment, a muscle twitching in her jaw. “We thought it would be best to reach out to both the Templars and the mages. I mean, there is no point in choosing one over the other if having both would better secure our victory.”

Solas blinked, an expression of genuine surprise washing over his features. “Both? That is a . . . surprising conclusion. And your advisors did not approve?”

“No.” She dropped the pendant and prodded his shoulder with her forefinger. “And do not sound so surprised. You know that they have been divided about who we should choose from the very beginning.”

He shook his head, grinning slightly at the simple touch. “I _did_ expect them to be divided, but one would assume that a decision for both would appease each of them. What did you propose?”

Liadan took a deep breath and stretched backward, placing her shoulders against the back of the hut he had claimed as his own. Lifting one hand, she wriggled her fingers in a small wave as Lissa paused at the door to the tavern before the mage slipped inside. “Lissa and I decided that she would go to the Templars, and I would speak with the mages. We do not want anyone to think we are playing favorites.”

“In politics, that is a difficult balance to achieve. Is it that you wish to simply keep up appearances, or is that you believe having both would benefit your cause?”

She paused, casting a look at him that said far more than he knew she would ever say aloud. Slowly folding her arms over her chest, she let her gaze fall to his closed sketchbook before she answered: “Both.”

He raised his brows, and slightly angled his body toward her. “Shrewd indeed. It does not hurt, after all, to posture. I would ask what your advisors have against it, but I can guess at their reasoning. They did not wish you to be separated, for one.”

“I will leave the posturing to those who have had ample practice.” Her shoulders rose as though to ward a blow, but she only sighed. “You are right, though. They think that being separated will leave us vulnerable, both to possible attacks and to repercussions from the mark. But Lissa and I have had plenty of experience caring for ourselves before we met, and we trust our travel companions. Well . . . .” She smirked. “Most of them.”

He hummed in amusement, letting the sound span the silence between them as he considered her words. It would be interesting to study the mark, the limits of its halves stretched to the farthest they had ever been, but he would be lying if he did not also share similar concerns. He knew the things of which it was capable. He could feeling it burning away at their mortality like a candle being burnt from both ends. “There are reasons to be concerned," he said at last. "But then, as you say, you’re not freshly acquainted with danger. What would your plan be? Knowing the risks, what measures would you take to counter them?”

Liadan rubbed at her arms, and he noted she wore only a long-sleeved tunic and leggings, her feet wrapped to ward off the chill of the snow. “We were each going to take a full team—that is part of the reason why Lissa and I chose to split up at the Fallow Mire, to see how we and the marks would fare on our own with the people who choose to follow us. Not to mention the normal scouts and soldiers we will take to assure our presence in each area.” Her expression soured a little. “And we have also assured the advisors that we will not take further unnecessary risks, like saving a pack of wild wolves from possession.”

He felt his lip pull to one side in a smirk. “And how far exactly would you be separated? How long? And what is your plan should the mark react poorly? I came because I know more about the Fade than any of your circle mages, and even I am not able to understand all that has happened or what could happen.”

“Grand Enchanter Fiona requested to meet us at Redcliffe, and the Lord Seeker is awaiting our answer at Theirinfall Redoubt. Lissa and I will be sure to take care not to overexert ourselves or the marks, but we feel that the having both the mages and Templars on our side will be worth the possible discomfort.” She shifted and scratched idly at the virid crack on her palm.

He felt himself stiffening at the idea. There was a lot to consider, and, without knowing exactly how or why these women had come by his mark and lived . . . he also had no idea what would happen should either of them die. It could potentially ruin the future of the People as he knew it.

“There is certainly a lot weighing on your decision,” he admitted, feeling the weight of it more keenly than he expected. “I wish you well with convincing your advisors. And, of course, I will be here should you need me.”

“Oh, they agreed.” Her gaze rose to meet his. “Just now.”

He let a measured amount of surprise color his expression. “Oh? And how is that?”

She slowly smiled and it was an expression he recognized, though not on her young features. “An ample amount of posturing.”


	18. Chapter Eighteen

  **Chapter Eighteen**

 

 

 _"Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,_  
_Tears from the depth of some divine despair_  
_Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,_  
_In looking on the happy autumn-fields._  
_And thinking of the days that are no more._

 _Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,_  
_That brings our friends up from the underworld,_  
_Sad as the last which reddens over one_  
_That sinks with all we love below the verge;_  
_So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more."_

_—The Princess; A Medley  
by Alfred Lord Tennyson _

 

Lissa sat in front of the evening fire, her legs curled beneath her as people bustled about the tightly grouped campsite. It was too much to hope for a quiet spot to herself, she knew, and it was easier to see nearer the fire, anyway. With her inkpot nestled securely in the earth, she dipped her tattered feather quill into the silky ink (writing _was_ one of the few pleasures she missed most while evading templars after the Circles fell), and enjoyed the way the end of the quill dragged along the rough paper. With precision born from years spent practicing in the Circle, she penned flowing, scrolling words in neat rows.

 

_Miss Lavellan and company,_

_I trust to the Maker that this finds you well. I shall do my best to ensure my reports are as nondescript as possible so that it passes the undeniable scrutiny of our resident Crow. Should you find anything at all redacted, I trust at least one of you to fill it in with glorious and ludicrous substitutions._

 

She spared a little grin as she imagined them making up their own tales for her around the campfire, perhaps very much like she was doing now.

 

_Please inform me of whatever wild adventures you invent for me when next we meet._

_On more personal matters, I find that each in our company fares well, even if energies are wound tight with anticipation of our meeting the Lord Seeker. I myself am most anxious to have it over with. My mare took a small stumble, and nearly threw me from the saddle. They had wanted to blame the horse, but I’m afraid I may have been daydreaming. The sprain is minor, as I’m to write this with far less discomfort than ails my other hand. I imagine you, friend, are feeling much the same. I am ever comforted by the fact that Solas travels with you. Knowing his expertise travels with your half of our predicament makes me smile._

_Currently I’ve tried to remedy the painful burning using a mixture based in elfroot. It resulted in the oddest sensation, and the smell had much to be desired. Also, the effect is not one I would wish you to experience—it did not numb the odd scratch at all, but instead made my skin prickle as if I had been exposed to ice and fire at the same time. As far as remedies, it was a poor, desperate attempt to stall the mind-gnawing scratch. (Madame was careful to remind me of the fact several times.) In the end, it simply smelled quite bad. Not recommended. If there are any measures that I can take to soothe it on my own, please admonish Solas’ to send word. A missive from any, of course, would be dearly cherished._

_Continuing on the matter of this brand, it seems to be getting more irritated the farther away we become. It is an odd thing to appreciate, but I assume that there is something to be sensed should anything happen to you. So, for this painful constant I find myself grateful._

 

“Here you are, Miss,” a rough voice accompanied a thick-fingered hand offering a bowl of camp stew. She blinked, raising her gaze to meet the soft eyes of their resident Warden. “You’ll need to take some dinner before too long; bored soldiers without an outlet will make short work of that pot.”

Lissa grinned, sitting up a bit to accept it with both hands. “Thank you, Blackwall. It is appreciated.”

“Take care of the heat, though. Wallace paid it no mind; it was spitting over the fire like some sort of witch’s brew.”

She set it aside with care, watching the steam curl into the night. “Have you met many witches, then, Warden Blackwall?”

He barked a single note of laughter. “Oh, if I have, it might not be a story a gentleman would repeat to a lady.”

A chuckled slipped from her lips as she dragged the tip of the quill over the edge of the pot. “Is there anything you _would_ wish to say? To our fellows, that is?”

His bushy brows raised as he lowered himself onto a nearby log. His meaty hand gripped the spoon with more propriety than most of the soldiers. “Oh? Sending a letter to our comrades? Tell them I send my greetings.”

 

_Well, it seems my time for scrawling has come to an end. Dinner has arrived, and the stew will not improve once night has sapped away its only virtue of warmth. Warden Blackwall wishes to report that he sends his regards._

_I do so long to hear from any of you soon._

_Maker speed over you._

 

With the same practiced penmanship, she signed her name and waited until the glossy shine of wet ink disappeared before neatly folding the letter. Stealing a few too-hot bites that stung her palette, she dug in her pack and fetched the block of red wax. It was a novelty to her, to have proper tools for letter writing. It had been so kind of Josephine to secure it for her.

Fetching a small stick from the fire, she carefully held it near the wax bar. The tip softened, dripping onto the envelope. With no official seal of her own, she pressed it instead with the imprint of a pretty shell she had found and kept among her personal treasures. She hoped Liadan would think it was pretty, too.

-

The night had been long, and the dreams were . . . unsettling at best. She splashed her face with some water from her canteen. The voices that would taunt her during the day, her doubts and fears, had taken shape in the Fade. If the Madame were not so fierce and frightening, she would have discussed the matter with her. But knowing the Grand Enchantress and her complete distrust for spirits, she would immediately accuse her of attracting demons. Lissa’s throat suddenly went tight. She had been accused of being a criminal once. Being accused of consorting with demons brought on a much worse fate for a mage. No, she did not need to bring it up. She could handle it. She _would_.

As she pulled her tent flap back, the morning air was cooler than she had expected. Gooseflesh broke out over her skin and she clenched her jaws to keep her teeth from chattering. She shuffled toward the dying fire, and warmed herself near the glowing embers.

Only a few yards away, Madame Vivienne was busying herself with taking down her tent. She was already dressed and prepared for the day, looking as well as if she were still to be Imperial Enchantress to the court. Her rich skin was oiled and shone by the flow of the coals. The lights and shadows played over her skin, setting off the curves and indents of her well-toned, slender arms.

Madame Vivienne was intelligent, possessing a terrifying knowledge of magic well beyond her years, and she had used it to secure power and influence. It was no surprise why she had attained the position of First within the Circle. Lissa found it hard to stand in her assured presence without second-guessing herself. The woman had an aura about her, so sure and confident, that if it were not for the small cracks around the edges of her smile, Lissa wondered if she would be able to breathe in the same room. Thankfully, in those little lines around the edges of her eyes, the invisible fractures that spidered away from her cold gaze, Lissa saw a haunting fear. It made the Enchantress seem human, fallible. It was almost enough to make her approachable, and for Lissa not to lose her nerve.

Almost.

“Are you going to gawk all morning, or do you plan on preparing to leave, my dear?”

Lissa blinked, turning away as the heat rose to her face. Well, that and Vivienne’s sharp snark helped to bring her down to humanity’s level, as well.

“Of course, Enchantress. I was merely lost in thought.”

Perfect and soft footsteps neared her, and Vivienne place a gentle hand on her cheek, turning Lissa to face her. “I gathered. If you must stare in aimless wandering—” Her finger slipped below Lissa’s chin, warm, soft, and smelling of fine perfume. “—at least do so without your mouth hanging open. It does make you look rather dull, darling.”

Lissa snapped her jaw shut, and nodded wordlessly until the Enchantress gave her a pitying look, which hurt more than it should have.

“And we really should do something with your clothes before you appear before the Templars. You are representing one of the greatest power in Thedas, and not the least Andraste herself, whether you like it or not. Your dress and appearance should inspire confidence, awe.”

Lissa felt her strained confidence stretch thinner and thinner the longer Madame’s critical gaze and words made Lissa the subject. Had Vivienne not grown up under the tireless weight of the Templars’ gaze, she might understand Lissa’s amount of confidence a bit more. But they both were raised in the Circle, and what was more, Vivienne supported the idea. Had their Circle’s been so different, or was there something the matter with Lissa?

Vivienne sighed, shaking her head. “Dear, you really must buck up. You will inspire no support with such a defeated air.”

Lissa forced a grin and nodded. “Of course, Madame.” But her throat felt tight. In the Circle, it was safer to shrink in the background, to remain unnoticed by the Templars. The only time she felt she could stand out was during her training, and even then, her success was carefully measured. Afterall, mages that were too skilled gained too much interest from their ever-present watchdogs. She took a deep breath. The last three years, she had been doing her best to _avoid_ the Templars, and now she was going to their headquarters. _Maker, what was I thinking ?_

With nothing of value to offer to the conversation, Lissa nodded again and began the process of breaking down her tent, her thoughts swirling in self-doubt.

-

Later in the day, accompanied by Inquisition soldiers, several members of the Orlesian nobility joined their party as they made the last leg of the journey to Therinfal. Vivienne navigated their conversations with more than just ease; she somehow managed to control the flow, never letting their prying questions about the Inquisition be met with too much information. while interjecting enough mystery into her answers to safeguard her control. She handled social situations with the same cold grace and precision that she displayed in her spells. It would be impressive were it not equally fearsome.  
  
Thankfully, the pestering questions and endless droning ceased as they approached the massive walls of Therinfal. It was quite a lot walls, in fact, and far more than Lissa cared for. As Templars in gleaming sets of armor marched in formation along their posts, the air left her lungs and her skin went cold.

A firm grip around her arm stopped the edges of black from creeping further into her vision. “Are you all right, m’lady?” a gruff voice asked quietly.

She let a few breaths meter her heartbeat to a slower pace. “I’ll be fine. Thank you, Blackwall.” He nodded, and took up a gait near her, no doubt in case she paled again. Vivienne was right; there was no way she was going to inspire the valorous Templars to follow her, a mage, in such a pathetic state. Her jaw clenched. _But I have to try_.

“Aha! The Herald of Andraste, no doubt.” A loud voice boomed from near the first gate. “I am Lord Esmeral Abernache, and quite honored to participate.” He stroked the stubble on his chin, the only part of his face, save his eyes, that were not hidden by a large, gaudy mask. “This certainly takes me back. It reminds me of the Second Dispersal of the Reclaimed Dales. What a time that was.” His eyes went past her, and his thin lips parted in a gleaming smile. “Why, Lady Vivienne! How good it is to see you. The Duke introduced us at last summer’s ball.”

“Of course,” she replied smoothly, her stride matching her velvet tones. “How could I forget the occasion?”

“I find it quite impossible what with the matter of my cousin’s dancing marking it forever in courtly gossip.” He chuckled. The man, Abernache, was it? seemed to have a genuine sense of humor. But was it like most things Orlesian, feigned to give one the upper hand, always thinking of the next move and countermove? He turned his funny, golden mask toward her. “Lord Seeker is willing to hear our proposal for closing the Breach. The alliance with the Inquisition has paved the way for this auspicious occasion. Care to mark the moment?” he asked with gusto.

Lissa paused for the space of two blinks. Was he expecting a speech? She almost laughed, partly from nerves, but also for the vanity of it all. Still, none of her advisors would thank her for irritating the nobles needlessly. That, at least, she retained from her former days as a Lady of House Trevelyan, short though they were. “The day holds many possibilities, brighter now with allies at my side.” He visibly straightened, preening at her words. “But perhaps history will make a better speech of it when all is done. I am, after all, more interested in results. Glory has little use to me.”

He waved off her reply. “Hmm, but I do expect the Inquisition will make use of our assistance, glory or not.” The Lord moved to go through the gate, and looked back over his shoulder with a meaningful look. Had he expected her to follow? With slow steps, she managed to get her trembling knees moving surely again until she caught up with Lord Abernache.

“I don’t suppose you will tell us what finally got the Templars’ attention?” he pried as they progressed toward the courtyard. “If you don’t, no doubt rumor will.” The space widened, and there were surprisingly more grass and wildflowers within the fearsome walls than she expected.

“I’m not sure I understand. What do you mean?”

He let out a short huff. “Lord Seeker insisted on making us wait for audience until he met with the Herald ‘in person.’ He was adamant about it, in fact. It was quite the turn, considering your spat in Val Royeaux.”

 _Interesting_ . What cause did the Lord Seeker have for a private meeting? She did not like thinking the worst, but the chill it sent down her seemed a good indication. _That, or you’re simply a coward_. She stifled a sigh. “I came only to ask for the Templars’ assistance to close the Breach. I care not for the politics of how we get there so long as it’s done.” Each step they took up the incline toward the inner courtyard crunched with the gravel beneath her boot.

“Aha!” he laughed, and it did not have the sting of a disingenuous tone, though the thought of meeting a genuine Orlesian noble was almost more troubling. “A woman of results. Then, let us see what our combined influences may work.” His gaze lifted, and he smiled beneath his mask. “Ah, the great Therinfal Redoubt. I hope you present wall, Herald. Maker knows I wish cooler heads would prevail. Don’t let us down.”

Lissa nodded, and hoped her lack of a verbal answer was taken as cool confidence and not the tight apprehension she felt.

Near the main gate, the nobles gathered like flocks of shiny birds. Vivienne, Bull, Varric, and Blackwall loitered nearby. “Well,” Varric started, “nothing like a pack of blood-thirsty Orlesians to give you some confidence. Or, you know, make you feel like a shiny thing surrounded by crows. I’ll give you one guess how it makes me feel.”

Lissa grinned crookedly. “Your humor continues to be a balm in these things, Varric.”

The dwarf shrugged. “I do what I can, Herald.” She grimaced at the term, and he grinned.

From beyond the two wide gates strode up a broad soldier, a Templar in full regalia, and she tried so hard to see her brother in the armor there. She found herself repeating an old mantra: _“Not all Templars are bad people. Not all Templars are bad people.”_ But it did not stop her body from remembering and wanting to protect itself, gut twisting and adrenaline shooting through her veins, hands itching for her staff. Thankfully, there was something genuine behind the eyes of the rich-skinned man with shorn hair that came to meet them. In fact, if she were any judge of men, she thought he might seem a bit nervous, too. _I am, after all, supposedly a Herald from Andraste herself._

“Hail, and well met, Herald.” He bowed slightly at the waist, and as he stood upright, he let his gaze take her in slowly. “I had heard that one of the Heralds was a mage. It’s all a bit different seeing you in person, Lady Herald.”

Lord Abernache barked: “This is no time for gawking, boy! Hurry us on to the Lord Seeker! Half of Orlais waits for him!”

There was a touch of annoyance at the corner of the Templar’s eyes, but he seemed to know rank well enough, and bowed slightly. “Of course, my Lord. I am Knight-Templar Barris, and will bring you to the Lord Seeker. This way, if you please.”

Once inside the too-high walls of Therinfal Redoubt and inside the inner courtyard, Ser Barris paused in front of a wall with an interesting contraption of ropes and standards. “If you would, before the Lord Seeker would meet you, he would have you perform the ceremony.”

Lord Abernache straightened and his chest puffed out like a pigeon. “He makes a request of the Herald of Andraste when _he_ has been keeping us waiting?” He turned to her, his mask quivering on his face. “I’ll tell you this, Herald, it’s all very untoward. It’s practically a slap in the face.”

“Noted.” She crossed her arms and turned to Ser Barris. “Lord Seeker acts repugnantly in public and has quite a lot to answer for. He asks me to come see him, and then plays games with the Inquisition’s time? He is walking a fine line. I am certain when I report back—”

“I-I understand, my Lady Herald. Lord Seeker has been . . . unusual lately.”

“Unusual?” Lissa asked, curiosity roused.

Barris swallowed. “It’s not my place to say, my Lady.”

“Then what of this ritual?” Lissa turned, craning her neck to take in the large wall and the different flags that hung there. “What does he expect of me, and what significance does this ceremony have?”

Barris seemed to measure her response, and for a moment, stood there with mouth agape. “Uh, it is something that each Templar must do, my Lady. It is supposed to give insight into the motivations of their service. The standards represent Andraste, the people, and the Templars respectively.”

Lissa narrowed her eyes on the banners. “And I am to arrange them in order of . . . what? Importance?” She resisted the urge to scoff in throat as he nodded. “What sort of game is this? Someone will always be upset no matter what I choose. But if it is a choice I must make.” Lissa took in a deep breath, letting it stretch her lungs and ribs, before bending to crank the wooden wheels. All eyes in the courtyard turned to the walls and watched too intently on her work. “There,” she said when she had finished. “I’ve played his game.” Standing upright, she brushed her palms, but as the whispers and gossip built up behind her, she started to doubt herself once more. She shook the thought away. _No, I’ve made my choice. I made it long ago_.

Ser Barris drew his eyes from the wall, a question in his gaze. “Why this? You’re . . . you’re the Herald of Andraste.”

She nodded and looked back to the wall, where the flags went from top to bottom at People, Templars, and Andraste. “The Maker gave us breath and life, and he even gave us Andraste, for what it’s worth. But all of the ceremonies, the worship, your service . . . none of it matters one bit if you aren’t caring for _people_ , Ser Barris. People are the heart of the Maker, _that_ I assure you. Take the rest how you will. My reasons are my own.”

The Templar nodded, giving one last, lingering look to the wall. “This way to the Lord Seeker, Lady Herald.”

 -

Barris led them inside, where to no one’s surprise, they were required to wait again. Lissa remained standing, regularly checking to make sure she had not locked her knees and wiggling her toes inside her boots to keep from pacing the room as she wanted. Lord Abernache and Ser Barris bickered over decorum and necessities of war, when suddenly, a large helmed figure broke through the door.

Barris looked as shocked as she did, which was not comforting. “Knight . . . Knight-Captain!”

The man with the large helm stepped forward, a menacing tilt to his shoulders paired with a reckless stride. He was a dangerous man, and smelled strangely, like . . . like far too much lyrium. The further he entered the room, the more her tongue tingled, and she did not like it at all. Her hand poised over her staff discreetly as the warning in her gut tightened.

“You expected the Lord Seeker?” he scoffed as he came to a stop within the center of the room.

“That was the arrangement,” Lissa offered, a cool, even tone to her voice. “Seeing as how he requested our presence, the Inquisition will find it exceptionally aggressive should we meet with anyone else.”

He turned to her, malice in what she could make of his eyes. “The Lord Seeker sent me here to die for you.” Lissa moved uncomfortably, but so did Ser Barris. This meeting was not going well, and it had not even started. The Knight-Captain barked a laugh. “ _This_ is the alliance the Inquisition has to offer us?”

Lissa straightened, and moved toward Lord Abernache, discreetly slipping between him and the Knight-Captain. “No discussion of an alliance will be proffered without the presence of the Lord Seeker. I am expected of him. Where is he?” She did her best to sound demure, but impatient, much like a Lady should be.

The Knight-Captain straightened, and she took a step back, then another, forcing Lord Abernache to remain behind her. “The Lord Seeker had a plan, but the Herald of Andraste got in the way, arriving with so glorious a purpose,” he spat the words. “It sowed dissent among the ranks.”

In the background, she could hear the shouting of men and the clash of arms. Was it a training session? Her heart hammered in her chest. _Oh no. What have I gotten into? I knew I could not do this. It should have been someone else. Not me._ “This is no longer an offer of allegiance,” she stated, voice raised but wavering. “Lack of compliance will be noted as an act of aggression against the Inquisition and our allies in Orlais. _Where_ is the Lord Seeker?” She cursed how her voice squeaked at the end, struggling to get past her tight throat.

The sounds of battle grew louder, and she knew—she _knew—_ this was not a training session, not some drill. She had lived among Templars her entire life, but she wanted . . . she had dared to hope . . . .

“You were _supposed_ to have been _changed_ ,” the Knight-Captain muttered, almost manic as he paced about the room. “Now you leave us no choice. We must purge the doubting, the questioning.”

All around her, the dampening presence of the Templars crushed in on her, blocking her connection to the Fade. _No . . . no, no, no! Where are my friends?_ Could they hear that something had gone horribly wrong? Had they been blocked out of the gate? She pulled out her staff, holding it at the ready. Why would the Templars . . . ?

“The Elder One is coming and we will be prepared!” A solid thunk resounded from the Templar behind her, a blade puncturing through the chain mail just under his armpit and piercing his heart. From the shadows appeared more of their number, but they were attacking their own! _Not all Templars . . ._ what was going on?

“Herald, this way!” Barris shouted, throwing his armored self in front of a scathing arrow aimed for Lord Abernache. With a shout of effort, Lissa cast a storm glyph in the floor, sending electricity crackling up the metal suits and freezing them in place, giving them just a moment to slip out the door.

They fought through the courtyard, but it was all madness. Templar fought against Templar, and the clash of arms and energy that surrounded the field sent a wave of dizziness ricocheting through her head. There was so much blood, so much lyrium-tainted blood, that her head felt heavy from the influence of it.

She turned, narrowly missing the strike of a sword before she brought up the base of her staff and clocked the man over his helmless skull. Barris kept guard over Abernache and urged her along. Thankfully, he used his abilities to counteract the others, and being near him was like getting a quick gulp of air before plunging back into the depths.

A familiar tingle started a crawl up the back of her neck before the little whispers made their way into her mind, and a wall of ice shot up, enclosing several Templars and blocking a volley of arrows from turning them into pin cushions.

“Vivienne!”

“Keep going, child!” she urged, casting spell after spell without so much as breaking a sweat. Did she really not feel the weight of the Templars?

_Or am I just that poor of a mage?_

Their little group made quick work of getting through the mad throng, the warriors, Blackwall, Iron Bull, and Barris cut a wide swath while Vivienne and Lissa hedged off the midline attackers. Varric kept their back and took out the archers while they made their way across the courtyard before barricading themselves inside.

“Well, now that is a bit more exciting that the distribution of the Dales,” Abernache finally quipped, Orlesian charm not the least bit sullied by the matter.

“M’lady, are you all right? What happened?” Blackwall asked, more concern in his gaze than she expected.

“I’m not entirely sure, to be honest. The Lord Seeker never appeared, and when the Knight-Captain showed up, they started killing their own.” She swallowed heavily and wished for the cool touch of water. “Ser Barris, what is going on?”

He shook his head, brows furrowed and striking eyes deep in thought. “There were . . . changes made. A stronger lyrium. When they started distributing it, it was supposed to be for a better class of warriors. When soldiers started disappearing, we thought it might be for training, but now—”

Lissa reached out and put her hand on his pauldron. “My brother is a Templar, so I know more than most the virtues and vices of those who serve the Chantry.” Oh yes, much more than she let on.

“What color did this new, stronger lyrium happen to be?”

“Red.” He looked confused. “Why?”

Varric sighed. “Maker’s balls. Look, long story, but we’ve got ourselves a shitload of trouble if that is actually red lyrium they’ve been pumping into those guys.”

“Nah, they’re just a little harder to crack than usual,” Bull supplied. Lissa was glad his usual gusto remained intact, but it did little to bolster her spirits. He shrugged off the dwarf’s glare. “A little spicier, too.”

“I’m more concerned about who it came from; this Elder One. Who is he? Why is he doing this?”

“All good things to consider, dear, after we get out of here,” Vivienne added, poised as though they had not run battling through a courtyard infested of murderous Templars.

“I can take you to the Lord Seeker,” Barris offered. “He’s been obsessed with you. Maybe if we use that, get him talking . . . .”

Lissa drank in a deep breath. “It is the only thing we have right now.” She met Ser Barris’ gaze with a determination she did not feel. “Take me to him.”


	19. Chapter Nineteen

 

**Chapter Nineteen**

 

_"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,_

_And sorry I could not travel both_

_And be one traveler, long I stood_

_And looked down one as far as I could_

_To where it bent in the undergrowth;”_

 

_—The Road Not Taken_

_by Robert Frost_

 

__

It was almost quiet out here, in the wilds of the Hinterlands, and Liadan was grateful for the chance to have a moment or two to herself. Behind her, Cassandra was quietly berating Sera for playing tricks on some of the soldiers that had joined them, and across the fire, Solas watched with distracted eyes, his fingers idly tracing the ornament on his stave. As he glanced in her direction, Liadan turned her face away, turning her gaze upward and tracing the brightening constellations.

_“You will be careful, won’t you?” Lissa had asked softly when the time had come for their groups to split. They had stood at the Crossroads, either party waiting a few yards away as the women said their farewells. Varric was telling one last joke and earning a disgruntled glare from the Seeker._

_“Of course,” Liadan had repeated. It had not been the first time Lissa asked, and Liadan was caught between amusement and frustration at the mage’s worry. “It is a simple meeting, yes? I speak with Fiona, accept the mages’ aid, and then make my way back to Haven.” She summoned a smile. “I will probably beat you back.”_

_A slow smile caught at the edges of Lissa’s mouth even as she shook her head. “It isn’t a race, Liadan. And even if it were, you have the unfair advantage of already being nearer to Haven than we will be.”_

_“Excuses.” Waving her hand, Liadan had scoffed. “Besides, you will be asking for aid from the Templars—everyone knows they will be happy to aid the growing Inquisition.”_

_Lissa’s expression soured. “You don’t have to remind me.”_

_“You will be fine.” Liadan’s smile softened and she went stiff as Lissa moved close enough to embrace her. As she tentatively wrapped her arms around the taller woman, Liadan took a deep breath and smoothed one palm over Lissa’s back. “After all,” she murmured against Lissa’s shoulder, “of the two of us, you have the patience of a saint. They will be unable to refuse you.”_

Liadan sighed and reached for her pendant, tracing the familiar, worn edges in an effort to ignore the growing itch and burn in her marked hand. Behind her, Sera’s giggles echoed over the crackle and pop of the fire, and another glance over her shoulder showed that Cassandra had given up on her lecture. As the Seeker moved toward her, Liadan dropped her hand back to her lap and looked back up to the sky.

“We should arrive at Redcliffe before sunset tomorrow,” Cassandra said and sat down on the large rock where Liadan had perched. Her armor creaked quietly and she smelled of fresh oil. Liadan merely nodded her head and traced the jaw of Draconis with her eyes. Cassandra shifted again, lifting her gaze to the night sky before looking at Liadan. “Does your hand trouble you?”

She did not have to look down to know that the mark on her hand pulsed with that same sickly green light. “Not so much,” she murmured, but turned her hand over all the same, hiding the mark against her thigh. “Do you think they will reach Therinfal on schedule?”

Cassandra grunted. “We can only hope. Our last raven says that they were making good time, but as you know, that was the day before last.”

“Do you think the Templars will listen?” Liadan asked softly, wondering why she bothered to ask at all. In her experience, Templars tended to do everything _but_ listen.

“That is . . . difficult to say.” Tapping her gloved fingers against her knee, Cassandra stared off into the darkness. “Templars can be hard-headed, but most are reasonable. I do not think they have much choice, what with the Chantry as it is.”

Clenching her hand and ignoring the hot prickle of pain that spread from the mark and down her fingertips, Liadan scowled. “I know it was our idea, but I do not like having to send Lissa to them.”

With another frustrated sound, Cassandra nodded once. “I do not like it either.”

-

Redcliffe was a nice enough keep, all things considered; earthen-hued stones and ivy climbing the walls, grey tiled roofs, and the sound of souls on the other side of the gate. But Liadan paid the keep little attention as she dodged the raking claws of a demon, grinning up into its face as it shrieked.

She and her comrades did their best to remain clear of the pale yellow glow that hovered in the air amidst the battlefield. Each patch of magic was roughly fifteen feet across, and though there was no discernable element to it, Liadan had watched, wide-eyed, as Cassandra’s charge had slowed as though the woman were attempting to fight beneath water. The Seeker had met her gaze, confusion evident on her features, and Solas had said, a little late, that the patches would need to be avoided at all cost.

“No shit,” she muttered and jabbed her swords into the demon’s gut, backing away as it howled and slammed its fists down where she had stood just a moment ago.

Beside her, Solas renewed their barriers and lifted his staff to send a sheet of flame toward the fading wisp of another demon. Across the way, Sera shot arrow after arrow into the back of the demon before Liadan, and Cassandra fought like a wild woman now that she was free of the odd magic, cleaving one foe in half and letting out a battle cry that caught the attention of every remaining demon. With the creature before her no longer watching her movements, Liadan stepped back behind the cover of a tree and lifted her torn palm, seeking out the heart of the rift and drawing the power from the tear in the air above them.

It fluttered, sputtered, and cracked like thunder, and the demons staggered, left helpless before the rest of her comrades. They fell to blade and magic and arrows, and Liadan clenched her fist, dragging the last of the magic from the tear and sending another booming echo through the small valley before the gates of Redcliffe. The moment the rift disappeared, so too, did the unknown patches of magic, and Liadan turned to Solas.

“What the hell was that?” Sera demanded, stomping about as she collected what arrows she could from the pools of ichor and gore the demons had left behind. “You all saw it, didn’t ya? That weird magic shit?”

“It was tied to the rift,” the mage murmured, his brow furrowed as he considered the now unaffected areas where the magic had once run unchecked. “It is the first of its kind that I have seen.” He slowly shook his head, unperturbed by Sera’s disbelieving snort. “I would not dare to hazard a guess without knowing more.”

Liadan gave a quiet grunt and walked over the earth that had once hummed with magic. But nothing changed and she walked through unaffected. “Excellent,” she muttered. “Weird magic _and_ a trap. Our advisors will be so pleased upon our return.”

“She _is_ one of the Heralds!” a voice called from the keep, and the sound of the gate being lifted covered the sound of cheers.

“Please, please, come in!” The guard who had originally refused them entrance bowed low and spoke with far more reverence than before. “Alexius is further inside. Please go and see him as soon as possible.”

Liadan shared a glance with the others before she flicked excess ichor from her blades and slid them into their respective sheathes. As they strode through the gate, she could hear the same whispers she had first heard in Haven, the civilians here watching her with something that could only be classified as awe. Her ears pricked and pressed back against the side of her head—she wanted nothing more to meet their gawking gazes and snarl in response—but she simply lowered her gaze and strode purposefully toward the open courtyard beyond the entrance.

Everything was given a cautious, analyzing look, defenses measured and potential weaknesses explored. No doubt her advisors, especially the Commander, would be interested to learn any information she gleaned. As she passed beneath an arch of stone that spread between two towers, she recalled the last discussion she and Lissa had shared with their advisors. Josephine had been unusually quiet, her dark eyes trained on the letter she was currently penning, other versions of the same letter already crumpled and rejected on the floor. Both Leliana and Cullen had given what information they had on the keep, and Lissa listened with rapt attention, her red-gold brows gradually furrowing. Liadan had thought it amusing and . . . sweet that she had been so worried—Lissa had her own troubles to worry about, after all.

_“If you attempt to go there, especially alone,” Cullen had said solemnly, lifting his gaze from the heavy marker he turned between his gloved fingers, “you could very well die, and we will have lost part of our only chance.”_

_“You say that as though I have never beaten the odds before.” Liadan had said it as a joke. After all, both she and Lissa had survived the Conclave, had they not? She rubbed an idle thumb over the dormant mark in her palm and held the Commander’s gaze. “We know of the magister’s plot and that is already more than he expects. I will be careful,” she had added as she watched the line of his jaw tighten. “And if anyone can keep me from ruining things, it is the Seeker.”_

_Both Cassandra and Commander had snorted at that, and though Liadan counted it a small victory to see a glimmer of wry amusement in Cullen’s gaze, his voice was still somber. “Magisters are dangerous, and a threat you have not yet encountered, Lavellan. You would do well to assume he has more than one trick up his sleeve.”_

But there had been more than fact in his statement, and perhaps even more than amusement in his gaze, and Liadan thought of it now as she took the stairs that led to the largest building within the keep. Cullen had been right about Redcliffe, at least. It was heavily fortified, and the deeper they moved past the gate, the more ill at ease she felt, like something were breathing against the base of her neck. The weight of her blades and the sounds of her companions’ footsteps helped to curb the unease she felt swirling in her gut, but she still would much rather have the Commander and his finest at her back.

_And Lissa._

Rolling her shoulders, Liadan pushed forward, ignoring the stares of those around them, and entered the main hall with her head held high. Cassandra entered just behind her, with Sera a few steps to her left, whistling loudly and off-key. Dorian inclined his head from where he hid in the shadow of one of the pillars; they had agreed it would be best to reveal his aid after she first confronted Alexius. Solas, as always, remained just a few steps behind the group, looking about the building as though he were trying to divine its secrets.

As a sallow looking man drew forward and tried to tell her she could only continue alone, Liadan took one last step forward and met his gaze. She frowned. “My comrades will accompany me, or I shall leave,” she said simply. “I have spent the last week on the road and I am not in the mood to deal with such inane matters from a glorified doorman.”

He scowled and opened his mouth to argue, but when Liadan moved to turn, he acquiesced and led the way. The walls were dark and bare of all decor, and aside from the fire that crackled within the dais’ hearth, there was no other light. Liadan wondered how much of that was due to the expedited nature behind Alexius’ rise to power, or if he had a reason behind the dim lighting. As the doorman began to introduce Liadan and her comrades, Alexius slowly rose from his wide chair atop the dais and lifted his hands in greeting.

“I am glad to see you again, my friend,” he said silkily, and as he came to the edge of the dais, he paused, his gaze shifting purposefully to her comrades. His smile stiffened, but his tone remained cordial.“And with your . . . constituents in tow. I had hoped for a private meeting with one of your rising power, though to be honest, I had also hoped I would be meeting with both you and the Lady Trevelyan.”

“I deigned to come without the Herald Trevelyan and speak with you, Magister, so that we can both continue our parley with the Chantry, and perhaps come to terms with you, as well.” She said the practiced words that Josephine had given her with just the smallest hint of boredom. A movement to the right caught her eye and she turned to see Enchanter Fiona step toward her. “Our greetings to both you and the Grand Enchanter,” she continued, “and our honest wishes to broker an arrangement with you both.”

The magister smiled, his gaze now primarily focused on her, and though Liadan disliked the man, she was glad for his attention. Now if only that flashy mage Dorian did not cause any trouble until the right time. “I am sure we can come to an arrangement that will benefit us all.”

“You speak as though we mages have no choice in the matter.” Fiona looked far more agitated than she had at their last meeting, and Liadan found she was glad for it. At least the woman seemed less confused than she had at the tavern. “When I promised my people to your care, it was for their benefit and well-being. Surely you will not decide without our consent.”

His smile turned simpering. “You chose freely to turn them to my care—do you not then trust me to have their best interests at heart?”

"I should like to include Enchanter Fiona in our discussion," Liadan said before either party could speak further. She turned from Alexius’ surprised gaze, noting the flicker of anger and frustration that crossed his features before she looked to Fiona. "It does tend to her and her fellow mages' best interests, after all, and I would have it no other way."

"My thanks," she said at last, her eyes wide with surprise.

 _Is such simple consideration really that unexpected?_ Liadan wondered before briefly inclining her head to the woman. _Or is it because she does not expect a non-mage to show her consideration at all?_

Alexius sank back into his seat with a small scowl, all flowery pretext gone. "I know you want these mages to help you seal the Breach. In fact, one might say that you need them. But as they are now under my order, what is it you will offer me in exchange for their service?"

Mouth quirking to one side, and ignoring Cassandra as the Seeker cleared her throat in warning, Liadan rested her hand on one hip and threw diplomacy to the wind. "What does what I want matter? I know you want me dead, Alexius."

Sera giggled.

“And yet you came,” Alexius said snidely after a moment’s pause.

“We both know that if I decide to ask the mages for their help, the majority would likely flee from you in a heartbeat. I am not so naïve as to believe that you saved them simply from the kindness of your heart.”

He sneered. “So you think you will just take them, then?”

Felix entered the hall from a door on one side of the dais. He quickly stepped forward, drawing his father's attention. "Father, she already knows everything. Please, let us talk honestly."

For a moment, Alexius’ expression softened before shifting to mild horror. "Felix, what have you done?"

"Why are you really here?" Liadan asked sharply, bored with the man’s games and agitated by the near constant burn in her palm. "Why have you taken in these mages in order to barter with me? Why bother with a trap at all?"

Alexius turned to her once more and scowled. "You think yourself so clever that you learned of my plan? You do not even understand what you are—what is that mark you bear like a simpleton—and yet you come here, blindly, and think to question me? You, an elf and a mistake?"

"A mistake?" She snorted, tapping her fingers against her thigh. "I have to admit, I have not been called that before. But since you think you have all the answers, why not indulge me with what you think _ought_ to have happened?"

"The Elder One should have had his moment—a moment of triumph for both him and this world." He shook his head, eyes bright with fervor. “It should have been he who bears the mark, not you and certainly not that fledgling welp who considers herself a mage!”

Felix stepped forward again, gently grasping his father’s arm. For her part, Liadan simply tapped her thigh again, reining in her temper at the magister’s careless words. “Father, listen to what you are saying! Do you have any idea what you sound like?”

“He sounds like every poorly-written villain the story books make us Tevinters out to be. How horribly droll and so utterly cliché.” Dorian made his arrival, bringing a sharpness to Alexius' face that drew on the man's already haggard appearance.

“I gave you the chance to aid us, Dorian,” Alexius said with obvious anger, “and you turned your back on me. You could have had the same power that the Elder One has granted me, but instead, you shall be wiped away, just like the rest who would dare to rise against him.”

Shaking her head, Liadan bit back her growing frustration. Had this truly all been such a waste of time? She was dealing with— "So you are a fanatic, then," she said. "Nothing more than a man eating the empty promises of whatever false god is lying to you. It is nothing the people of Thedas have not heard a hundred times before."

“Save for the fact that now the Imperium can finally attempt to outdo ourselves,” Dorian said with obvious sarcasm. “You know, like that time we brought the Blight about?”

Alexius continued as though they had said nothing. “He will bring us to our rightful place; we will rule as we meant to rule, and with the Elder One leading us, no one will be able to stand against us.”

“My people want no part of _this!_ ” Fiona insisted, her face drawn in a worried scowl, and as she looked toward Liadan, she could see a faint sheen of sweat on the mage’s brow. “Please, I would never have taken his aid had I known!”

“You and I once spoke of this very same thing, Alexius.” Dorian stepped forward, placing himself between Liadan and the magister. His voice was calm now, almost cajoling. “You remember, don’t you? We talked and we swore we would never let something like this happen. Why? Why do I not recognize the man you have become?”

Alexius stared dispassionately, unmoving until his son reached for him once more. “Father.” Felix spoke softly, earnestly, and Liadan felt pity for the young man who could not seem to reach his own father. “Please, it is not too late. You can let these mages aid the Inquisition and close the Breach. You can disband the Venatori and forsake this dangerous path. We can still go home.”

“ _No."_  Alexius turned, his expression caught between anger and desperation now, and he gently grabbed his son by the shoulders. “If I do this, if I do what he says, I can _save_ you.”

“If this is what it takes to be saved,” Felix took a step back, shaking his head in loss, “then I do not want it.”

Now Alexius was the one who reached out. “It is nothing,” the magister insisted, his voice nothing more than a hiss. “ _Nothing_ if it means I can save you. All it requires is fixing the mistake—assuring that these two foolish whelps do not harness the mark at the temple—”

“I’m going to _die,_ Father.” For a moment, Felix’s gaze slid toward Liadan, and she saw an apology in his eyes. Then, he faced his father and stood firm. “And nothing you do will change that. You need to accept it, please.”

Liadan paused. _Is this all truly for the sake of his son? Does he truly believe this ‘Elder One’ will save Felix’s life?_

With a shake of his head, Alexius whirled to face them. “Guards, seize them.” His eyes burned as he met Liadan’s gaze. “The Elder One requires your life and I will have it. And when you are dead, I will storm Haven with these foolish mages and I will kill your fellow _herald._ ”

But Liadan did not move, and though both Cassandra and Sera turned to ward off any attack, she could hear the sound of blades piercing flesh and the dull thump of bodies falling to the floor. She brushed by Dorian, casting only a quick glance over her shoulder toward Solas, who merely watched her in silence. “Your men are dead now, Alexius,” she said calmly and drew one of her swords as she began to climb the stairs toward him, hearing the click of Dorian’s boots behind her. “Your trick did not work; stop this before I am forced to hurt you in front of your son.”

“I _will_ fix this grievous mistake,” the magister said through gritted teeth and summoned an odd-looking amulet to his outstretched palm. The moment he clutched it, a faint green light burst from its shorn edges. “I will make sure that you never disrupt the Elder One’s plan!”

Liadan bent, thrusting her blade forward toward Alexius’ unprotected stomach.

“Herald, _don’t!_ ” Dorian shouted and spun his staff, magic flying toward the amulet even as Felix reached out to pull his father back. The light exploded into an odd, all-too-familiar, virid green, and Liadan felt her stomach lurch as Solas let out a warning shout. And then she was tumbling forward, falling, but not landing, and the world turned upside down.


End file.
